The Story Of Our Scars
by SpellCleaver
Summary: "There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery" - Dante Alighieri. When Jon comes home to find strangers in his home, and his sister in a coma, he vows to punish the one responsible for this mess. But finding out just who it is might be harder than he anticipated. OOC/AU/AH. COMPLETE
1. Silent

**I probably shouldn't be publishing this when I've got three other stories to work on. But having lots of things to update puts me under more pressure, and it helps writers block if I have more things to work on. I'm not sure how often I'll update. Basically I'll write this whenever I feel like ripping my own heart out.**

 **Note: My updates in all my stories will slow down. I'm very busy at the moment and have less time to write.**

 **Disclaimer: I sadly don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Silent**

 _S_

Jonathan Morgenstern lugged his heavy suitcase up the short flight of stairs that led to the front door of his home. The familiar fire engine red paint peeling off the wood felt rough under his hands as he dumped his bag onto the top step - wincing as it landed on his toe - and pushed at it, using his right hand to twist the brass knob.

He frowned when it didn't budge. Clary _never_ kept the door locked, not whilst she was in. She was absurdly trusting of others.

He momentarily debated whether or not she was out with Simon, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it formed. She must have seen the hurried text he'd sent her, saying he would come home that day. She never ignored his texts. It wouldn't be out of character for her to have missed school that day just so she could greet him.

Not that she would have needed to. At five in the afternoon, she should have finished the day by now.

So, having faith that she would answer, he gave five short sharps presses to the doorbell and stop there, tapping his foot impatiently. He heard the harsh trilling echo along the long corridor beyond the wood.

Jon furrowed his brows and leaned in closer as his ears caught a snatch of noise. Unfamiliar voices resonated from inside his house; some seemed male, some female. He bit his lip. No one had answered the door yet. He rang another five times, damning all aspects of politeness. He dropped his hand and waited. He shifted on the balls of his feet.

They must have heard him.

Growing impatient, he burrowed under the mat, thanking every known deity when his fingers slid over the cold hunk of metal they kept stashed there for emergencies. He pulled the spare key out and with unpractised fingers slid it into the keyhole in the door. With a violent jerk it twisted the door open, which swung inward to show the corridor beyond.

Jonathan's tingling sense of unease increased. The hallway _was_ lit - but dimly so. The faintest sheen of dust cobwebbed the floor, as it had a tendency to when the hallway wasn't swept every few days, only disturbed by a stampede of footprints that led down it. The photographs lining the walls in their frames were slightly crooked, some with spiralling cracks barely formed in them.

He took a tentative step into the home that no longer felt like home. The door swung shut with a jarring thud behind him. The door to the living room was propped open; he checked inside to find the colourful carpet muddied and holes picked in the furniture. He shut that door as well, before continuing down the corridor. The ivory blonde eyed the other doors along the route, shut firmly closed. He was half afraid to open them, lest this alien dreading feeling increase whilst he looked.

Light streamed under the door at the end of the corridor - the one that led to the kitchen. The voices came from there. As he got nearer, Jon could begin to distinguish words and individual people. He recognised a total of two: Clary's friends, Simon and Maia. And- was that Magnus? But the rest were a mystery.

He reached out to gently turn the handle to the door. He winced as it screeched out a warning. Did it always do that?

After the darkness of the corridor, the merciless neon lights that bounced off all the white and silver surfaces in the kitchen briefly blinded him. By instinct he raised his left hand to block the light, and at first all he could make out were six silhouettes. He couldn't make out their faces yet, but he had the uncomfortable feeling they were all staring at him.

He blinked fiercely and his pale eyelashes did their job and filtered the light enough for his eyes to function properly. He took the opportunity to study the scene before him. Six people occupied the room. None were adults, and none were Clary.

A girl of mixed race with black hair expertly held in braids and amber, unabashedly surprised eyes stood holding a packet of crisps, chewing on one with seemingly deliberate slowness. _Maia_ , he was sure. Next to her, a boy with gangly legs crossed over the wood of the chair and dark hair tumbling over glasses in an inelegant way. _Simon_. His eyes skipped over Magnus, since it physically hurt to look at him, he was wearing so much glitter, but he could see enough in his peripheral vision to know the oriental boy wasn't grinning at him for once. Odd.

Those were the only ones he recognised. Standing close behind the chair Magnus sat in was a stunningly attractive boy of about Jon's age with raven hair, skin as pale as a cloud, and startled startlingly blue eyes. Jon's perceptive gaze almost immediately zoomed in on the long dextrous fingers that gripped the back of Magnus' chair. Also odd.

Perched on the windowsill yet somehow refraining from knocking over Clary's painstakingly cared for potted plants was a tall girl of about his sister's age, with the same black hair and facial bone structure as the previous boy, so he presumed they were siblings. The girl had thick eyelashes that veiled her eyes, but he determined them to be a very dark brown. She surveyed him with a guarded, judgemental expression that instantly had Jon bristling. This was _his_ house. She had no right to judge him here.

The final person in the room was a tall, broad-shouldered boy who could have been Jon's or Clary's age. He was leaning against the sink with an air that was so unaffected Jon could immediately pick up on the falseness of it. Golden curls that wouldn't be out of place on Cupid's head framed a chiselled, shockingly handsome face. A faint frown illustrated his features, and he eyed Jon through striking yellow eyes with something far too close to suspicion for the Morgenstern's liking.

"If you don't mind me asking," Jon snapped his head to look at the dark-haired beauty as she spoke. She wore a condescending expression that told Jon she would ask whether he minded or not. "But, who the hell are you?"

Jon squared his shoulders as a look of annoyance floated across his features. "Jonathan Morgenstern." He spat back at her. "And might I inquire what you're doing in my house?"

The three who already knew who he was looked utterly calm, but the three strangers were taken aback. The boy at the sink rose his head, his frown changing to one of confusion. "You're Clary's brother?" He asked. As Jonathan nodded, he vaguely registered that his skin was also gold. It was like someone had built him entirely out of precious metal. "The one who never responds to her messages and calls?" Jon felt indignity rising up inside him. "I thought you were on an exchange program in Germany."

He nodded again, trying to quench the defensiveness. "I was. Now I'm back. Who are you people, what are you doing here, and where is my sister?"

Aureate eyes narrowed, but no comment was passed. "I'm Jace Lightwood," he said cautiously. "And these are my siblings: Alec and Isabelle."

Jon nodded to them impatiently. "And where's Clary?" At the lack of answer he turned to Simon. The two had been attached at the hip for as long as he could remember. "Simon? Do you know?"

More silence. It was getting quite irritating.

It was Maia who finally spoke. "You didn't know?" She asked incredulously. Jon shook his head with bewilderment and a prick of shame.

"How could you not know?" Jace burst out, a slight heat behind his words. "When was the last time you heard from her?"

Jon frowned. "Two weeks ago," he stated dismissively. "But I sent her a text last night she never responded to."

His confusion only grew at Jace's bark of cruel laughter. He waited for an explanation, but it never came.

"Jon," Simon spoke for the first time. He seemed to be weighing his words with more care than Jon had ever seen him take. "Clary's... asleep."

"Then wake her up." He said bluntly, but a cold fear was growing in the pit of his stomach. _No._

No.

Simon winced (No). "We... can't." He said finally. No no no.

Jon took a strangled breath (was it always that hard to breath?) but there seemed to be a knot halfway down his trachea. "She's not... d-de-"

"NO!" The cry had come from more than one direction. Scanning the room, Jon deduced that it had come from Simon, Maia, Isabelle and Jace. Magnus had stayed silent. That was odd of him. "No," Maia continued in a rush. "But- she's in a coma at the hospital."

Jon's heart decided to try and break the speed limit. Questions swam behind his emerald eyes, blurring his vision - or was that tears? - but he could only manage two weak words. "How? Why?"

Magnus spoke for the first time. His angular face was grim, and Jon absently noted Alec's hand had moved from the back of his chair to his shoulder. The blue-eyed boy was the only one who hadn't said anything yet.

"It's quite a long story."

* * *

 **Review? There will be more drama later on, I just needed to get the basic concept down.**


	2. Abandoned

**This chapter is short, but they'll get longer as they go along and there are more things I can include. I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Abandoned**

 _SA_

Jon crossed his arms. "How long a story can it be? I spoke to Clary literally twelve days ago, as I've already mentioned."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "Did you think to let slip to her that you were coming home today?"

The ivory blonde frowned. "Well, no, but it wasn't certain then. Besides, we had a really short conversation. My friend was trying to talk to me."

Jace only looked more pissed off. Jon was starting to develop an intense disliking for this blonde teenager who'd come into his house when none of the residents were there and was judging him harshly in his own home.

"Simon," Jon appealed to seemingly the only sensible one there. "Please tell me what happened."

The brown haired boy fidgeted nervously, casting his eyes downwards. "Clary was in a car crash and was injured and now she's in hospital." He mumbled, incredibly fast. But there was no way Jon could not hear them.

"Ridiculous," the Morgenstern boy scoffed, though he admitted to himself he didn't think Simon was lying. Clary's best friend looked utterly dejected and mournful. "Clary's the most careful driver in existence, and trained herself to be able to react quickly in situations like that. She would have swerved to avoid the other car without a second thought. There's no way she crashed."

Maia scratched the back of her head. "Well," she said hesitantly. Jon swivelled his attention and fixed his eyes on her face. She was pretty, and he'd had a crush on her at one point but he hastily brushed it off with the combined effects of his sister's threatening and Maia's affections towards his friend Jordan. "She was a bit distracted," Maia said now. Why was everyone walking on eggshells around him?

"Why?" He said slowly, suddenly terrified. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Magnus butted in then. "As I said, it's a long story, and we still haven't figured out why she reacted so strongly."

"Reacted so strongly to what?"

Magnus ignored his question, instead waving at one of the empty chairs. Jon took it and sank down with relief. He hadn't realised his knees were trembling. Looking around the kitchen, now knowing the situation, he was unsurprised to see three of Clary's closest friends there. It only seemed natural. But one person he would have expected to see, wasn't present. "Where's Sebastian?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jace's jaw clench, but he ignored it. "Shouldn't he be here with the rest of Clary's-"he eyed the Lightwoods "- _friends_."

Maia swallowed. "They're no longer dating, Jon."

"What?!" Jon slammed his hands down on the table and winced at the stinging in his palms. "Did he break her heart? If so, then so help me I will-" a thought struck him. "Did he break up with her, or did she break up with him?"

Simon cringed at the news he was about to deliver. It seemed to be the people he knew doing all the talking. He chanced a glance at the Lightwoods. Considering how vocal they had been when he came in, this was odd. "He broke up with her." Simon finally heaved out.

The hands on the table curled into fists. He began to rise-

"Jon, wait!" He was prevented from doing so by Magnus' firm hand on his shoulder. "You haven't heard the full story. Hell, _we_ haven't heard the full story."

Jon gestured impatiently with his right hand, still in a fist. "So," he invited, his eyes sparking in challenge. "Tell me."

"Why don't we start at the beginning." Magnus said. "Maia?"

She took a deep breath and began to speak.

* * *

I think the first time I ever noticed something was off was about two months ago, when we were hanging out in my room one time. I'd just received a really sweet text from Jordan, and was blushing furiously. Clary being Clary, she noticed and started teasing me for it.

"A message from lover boy?" She inquired, waggling her eyebrows. Or at least trying to; again, Clary being Clary, she couldn't move them independently and it just looked like her face was contorted. She laughed instead.

I blushed. "Maybe..."

Clary grinned broadly. I did not like that expression. Without warning though with her customary lack of grace she snatched the phone out of my hands and was smirking as she scrolled through my conversation. I remember how the silver case winked at me mockingly, like it wanted her to read it.

Whilst there was no sexting going on, there was still sufficient evidence for a teasing friend to exploit. And Clary exploited it to the best of her ability.

" _'I simply can't wait to see you, babe._ ' _"_ She read out loud, in between laughs. " _'I miss you-'_ You just saw each other in lessons!" She peered at the time. "You were texting this during Maths. You sit next to each other!"

I blushed again, because it did sound ridiculous when she put it like that. I reached for my phone back, but Clary hopped up onto the bed and continued to read them out. " _' I can't wait for-'_ " She stopped speaking with a grunt as I tackled her and knocked all the wind out of her. We tumbled to the ground, and in the scramble of arms and legs I managed to seize the phone, and leap off her, cawing triumphantly.

"Ha!" I pocketed it.

She was still lying on the floor with her arms spread like broken wings, hair flaming behind her, staring up at the ceiling. She propped herself up onto her elbows. "But seriously, you must spend twice the amount credit texting Jordan than the rest of us combined. I feel neglected!" She cried, fake fanning herself with one hand.

I noticed Clary's own phone lying on the desk where she'd dumped it earlier, the colourful butterfly stickers on the case a beacon for all to see. I smiled wickedly and made a lunge for it. She didn't even bother getting up and just watched as I accessed her phone and tapped on the messages icon.

"You really need to put a password on your phone," I told her blithely, half of my attention puzzling over her lack of reaction. "You're far too trusting." She stiffened at that, but I paid her no heed because I'd just caught sight of the date and time of the last time Sebastian had texted her. After that it was all her messaging him. "You last heard from him three weeks ago?!" I exclaimed, gaping at her. Maybe it was a bit excessive but there were like the dream couple: affectionate, always being there, sometimes even clingy. He was her first boyfriend, her first kiss, her first... _time_ ; what had happened to these two? And how had none of us noticed?

She didn't seem to see what was wrong, only shrugging and saying: "Why would he? We haven't had a reason to talk recently. He has a life outside of me, you know."

* * *

" _Please_ don't interrupt me with questions halfway through," Maia filled in irritably during the silence after she'd finished her recount. "It's hard enough remembering exactly how this event occurred, without you imbecile's interrupting my thought stem."

"Yeah about that," Jace sneered. Jon vaguely wondered why he was here, or even friends with his sister; he didn't seem like a massively nice person that Clary would like. He just seemed angry. "We really don't need the excessive detail."

Maia just made an unpleasant face at him. Anyone who didn't know her would think it was a childish gesture she didn't mean, but Jon knew her. She did not like Jace.

What was going on here?

"No." Jon butted in after a split second decision: side with a lifelong friend, or a complete stranger? "We could use the detail; details could be important."

Jace just scowled at him.

* * *

 **What do you think of the Lightwoods so far? What about Maia's relationship with Clary? With Jace? What do you think Clary reacted so badly to?**

 **Review!**


	3. Distant

**The chapters to this story will probably always be quite short, because that means I can type them out quickly.**

 *****Mentions of spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I put it in because I needed an example of a film that showed sibling bonding well, and it was the only decent one I could think of.*****

 **I'm just going to say from now on: I don't own TMI**

* * *

 **Distant**

 _SAD_

Jon's breathing was very loud in his own ears as he sat in the rigid hospital chair that had been pulled up next to Clary's bed. His sister lay next to him, the white sheets harsh against her almost colourless skin, making her copper freckles resemble spots of blood on an otherwise clean canvas. He had to gasp to keep in the sob that rose in his chest at the sight, and tried to focus on the familiar aspects of her face instead.

Her straight, pert little nose still had the same dots brushed over it that had been there when he last saw her, but she seemed to have gained a few more, including one on the flare of her nostril so it fidgeted with every deep breath she took. Hysterical laughter bubbled in his chest and he forced himself to choke it down, continuing with his observations.

She'd cut her hair a little shorter; it no longer looked like it would hang right to the small of her back, but like it reached perhaps halfway down. The curls were as riotous as ever, he guessed, considering that someone had braided her hair to keep it from tangling too much.

He leaned forwards to skim a finger along her cheekbone, before he hissed and drew it back. Her skin was so cold it seemed to suck the heat out of his own; a far cry from the little sister he remembered, whose blush generated enough heat to rival a furnace. There was obviously no scarlet flush on her cheeks now, but he'd become so familiar with it that a ghostly image of pink hovered over her face in his minds eye, even as his eyes plainly saw there was none.

He raised his hand to touch her again, but was repulsed by the cold before he could get close. She lay there, utterly still, oblivious to his presence. The thought that crossed his mind was that she was Sleeping Beauty, with no prince to kiss her awake.

But Clary was the most independent person he knew. What had happened to make her so vulnerable?

* * *

At school the next day he was hailed by most of the students in his year, half of them greetings after his long absence and inquiries after his exchange partner's wellbeing, the other half whispered condolences. It seemed like not that many people knew about Clary's state; even Sebastian came up to him with a grin and a greeting and no apparent clue. Would he be smiling so hard, Jon wondered, if he knew about Clary? He'd been told the two of them had broken up, but Seb had really cared about his sister. Where did all that care go?

Throughout the day Jon had also noticed that Jace and the Lightwood's were very... _integrated_ , into the school. They may be new, but Jace flirted with girls like they'd been throwing themselves at him forever, Isabelle chatted with awestruck people with an impressive ease and Alec... Well, Alec seemed to stick very close to Magnus throughout the day, even if he wasn't all that social or friendly towards anyone else, including his own siblings.

Now, an entire school day later, Jon and everyone who'd been present the night before sat around the kitchen table in the Morgestern household, exchanging awkward glances. Jon had dragged them there and commanded them to talk, but no one had taken the initiative yet. He was starting to get impatient.

"Simon," he said suddenly, pointing at the dark haired boy, who now wore a half-terrified look, presumably brought on by Jonathan's terrifying glare. "When was the first time you ever noticed something was wrong, or different, about Clary?"

"Nice way of phrasing it, Jonathan," Isabelle drawled scornfully. "Can't you ask a question without insinuating that your sister is wrong?"

Jon sent a scorching glare at the tall girl - his most threatening one yet - but could find no response to her statement.

Meanwhile, Simon seemed to have been pondering something, and Jon leaned in eagerly to catch what he was about to say.

* * *

Well, I suppose the first time the thought that something was off about her, was when I was round here. Clary had invited me over for a sleepover like we do every month or so. We were just sitting in the living room, having a marathon of the Harry Potter films, as per habit. Maia had called to say she was out with Jordan, and couldn't make it. I remember Clary seemed particularly upset about that, but I'm pretty sure I just wrote it off as disappointment, and was a little hurt that I wasn't enough company for her.

We started where we'd left off previously, around halfway through Order of the Phoenix. I had pretty much dozed off by the time Deathly Hallows Part 2 started, since we'd began later than usual thanks to the popcorn maker being stubborn. And everyone knows you can't have a movie marathon without popcorn.

So it was late, around midnight, and I was half-asleep by the time the Battle of Hogwarts came around. I remember at one point I was jerked out of my snooze by an explosion on screen, and looked over at Clary to see her perfectly wide awake, just staring at the television screen like she wasn't really looking at it. I could see shapes reflected in her irises, like clouds of mud swirling beneath the surface of a green pond.

"What I find the saddest," she said. I was vaguely surprised that she knew I was awake, when she was paying so little attention, but she almost seemed to be talking to herself. "Is that George and Fred relied on each other so much, and just like that, they were torn apart. They were practically each other's worlds, and then one day Fred was gone, and George was alone." Her glassy eyes turned even more fragile. "It makes you question the power of family."

"Well," I said, suddenly wide awake. "Why don't we skip to a happier part then, take your mind off of such morbid thoughts." I picked up the remote and zipped through to the _Nineteen Years Later_ epilogue section.

I know, I know; that was uncharacteristic of me. Usually I fight off awkward situations with jokes and sarcasm. But there was something about Clary in that moment: her demeanour, her voice, her eyes - I don't know. But it was different. And it scared me.

After that she seemed to shake off the melancholy and we had a reasonably good time chatting and wondering whether Maia was having as much fun as we were. We finished the movie and set up the beds, got changed, I teased her for being self-conscious since she's grown into a teenager, now she refused to get changed in front of me, and we went to sleep.

The next morning we got up, she made toast and poured out the cereal, we chatted some more, then put in the first Harry Potter film to start the cycle again for next time. Only when I was leaving did I notice something was off.

"Clary," I asked, hovering in the doorway. "Where's your Dad?" I knew enough not to ask about her Mum. "Shouldn't he be in?"

She furrowed her brows and shrugged. "He's out somewhere. I don't know where."

* * *

"What actually happened with Jocelyn?" Jace asked in the quiet that meant everyone was thinking. More than a few scowls were thrown his way at his blatantly derailing of their thought process. "Clary would only tell me her name."

"Sad that she refused to trust a guy she'd known for a few weeks with her demons?" Maia sneered at said guy.

The teenager's handsome face contorted into an ugly expression but a look from his sister quelled his reaction. "Let's just calm down," Isabelle said resolutely. "And I'm curious too. I don't blame Clary for not telling us, but what did happen to her Mum? It could be tied in with this."

Jon immediately looked down as his thumbs, startled to see he'd managed to tangle them in a knot. He must have been twiddling them unconsciously.

"She left," he said finally. The exhale was more of a sigh. "Quite recently actually. About five months ago. It was why I chose to go on exchange; I wanted to get away from everyone for a bit."

This time, even Alec looked sceptical. "You abandoned your family in their time of confusion?" The blue-eyed boy stated incredulously, scorn a living thing in his tone. "Isn't that a bit selfish of you? Clary probably needed you there for her."

Jon bristled, but his defensive spikes strangely didn't seem so sharp anymore. "What was I supposed to do?" He asked softly, meeting every person's eye in turn. "I was angry; I was scared; I was upset; I was even a little jealous, because _she_ had tried to take Clary with her, but not me." He tried to force out words around the lump in his throat. "I'm only human. What was I supposed to do?"

"What Clary did," Jace said bluntly. "She stayed, and struggled with her feelings, and not once did she get in trouble for picking fights." Jon winced; clearly word of his antics in Germany had made it back home. "She didn't take it out on anyone else."

"No," Jon snapped, a dark anger writhing inside him. It wasn't that he didn't love his sister - he _did_ \- but hearing Jace talk about her so reverently, and Jonathan with such disgust, just set him off. He knew for a fact that he and the redhead were very similar in personality, so how was it possible to hate one and like - _love_ , Jon was beginning to suspect - the other? "She didn't. She took it out on herself." His words were bitter, because he'd always known that that was an obvious difference between them.

He spat his final words. "And look where that got her."

* * *

 **My longest chapter yet (for this story).**

 **Review? If not, it's my birthday in two hours so review as a present?**


	4. Naive

**I've been trying to dredge up some inspiration - for** ** _anything_** **\- through listening to PJO fanart videos. It didn't work, but at least I've got this chapter planned out, so here it is.**

 **This took a really long time to write and it's really short but...**

* * *

 **Naïve**

 _SADN_

A moment of awkward silence followed Jon's outburst. It made a nice change, he thought bitterly, to see the Lightwoods eye him like a wounded animal with a liability to lash out. It was certainly better than the outright disdain they'd dished him.

He saw Jace swallow.

Forcibly shoving down the uncharacteristic rush of anger - at least, it would have been uncharacteristic once upon a time - he levelled his breaths, flattening his palms against the table. "Any other examples of times like this?"

Maia and Simon shared a mutual glance.

"What?" He cut out irritably. He wasn't here for covert glances and vague replies. He wanted _answers._ "Spit it out, Rat-face."

Simon sent him a red-eyed glare worthy of the rodent he'd been named after. That was a nickname they'd both thought was long buried.

Therefore Jon could barely suppress his amusement when Jace whispered fiercely to Isabelle: "I _told_ you he looked like a rat!"

"Are you going to let me talk, or stand there insulting me whilst Clary's chances are dwindling day by day?"

The last traces of a grin slipped from the blonde's face. "Spit it out, _Simon_."

His face contorted into a scowl.

* * *

There was this one time that I called Clary to cancel on her for the trip to the travelling circus we'd planned with Maia. I phoned her to say that I had a date who'd badgered me to take her to it alone. And it was pretty obvious that she wouldn't be too happy if I took Clary as well; everyone knows that Maureen hates Clary.

So I phoned her perhaps the day before, on Friday night, as it'd been arranged after school that day. When she answered she was clearly tired - it was almost eleven o'clock - but she'd gotten to the phone unusually fast. I didn't think much of it at the time, but I have to take note of it now.

"Clary Morgenstern," she answered, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, Clare," I said, "I'm really sorry but I can't make it to the circus tomorrow. Maureen's making me take her instead." There was a moment of silence. "Clary?"

"I'm still here," she burst out. "Don't worry; I understand." She still sounded upset.

"You can go without me," I coaxed. "Maureen can't exactly throw a hissy-fit if we 'accidentally' run into you and Maia. We are best friends, and it would be too much for her to ask for us not to stop and chat."

"Don't worry," she repeated. "Maia's already cancelled. Besides, I have homework to do. See you on Monday, Si."

"Okay-" I tried to say, but she'd already hung up.

* * *

 _"That_ wasn't an example of Clary acting odd," Jace pointed out scathingly. "That was just you being an asshole, Rat-Face."

Simon's face twisted but Isabelle - _ever_ the peacekeeper - intervened. "He has a point, Simon," she reasoned. "Anyone would be hurt if you cancelled on them to go out with some girl. _Especially_ if their other friend had just cancelled as well _._ "

At Simon's accusing look, Maia flung her hands up in surrender. "I was out with Jordan!" She exclaimed. "At least I didn't ditch her for someone who hates her guts!"

Jon turned to Magnus, desperate for some speck of normalcy. "You haven't commented much, Magnus-" _Which is very uncharacteristic of you_ "-what do you think?"

Magnus met his desperate gaze innocently. "Oh, I was just trying to reconcile the fact that Sean secured himself a date with everything else I know about him. It's not fitting in."

"My name is Simon!"

"Whatever."

"Just shut up, both of you," came Alec's first words of the evening. He looked up at Jonathan and looked just as weary as he felt. "Speaking of odd phone calls, Jon, did something about Clary ever seem off in your... _sporadic_ -" Jace scoffed, "moments of correspondence?"

Jon considered it.

* * *

I remember about a month into my time in Germany, none of the friends I'd made were around so I called Clary, despite it being about one in the morning over here. I was surprised when she picked up, but I brushed it off. Why wouldn't she? We hadn't spoken in ages.

"Hi Jon!" She said brightly, well, as bright as one can be at ungodly hours of the name.

"Hey Clary," I said in response. "How have you been in the last week?"

"It's been three weeks since we spoke, Jon," she corrected me. I don't think I noticed the way she phrased it as a reprimand, not at the time. She was quiet for a beat, then she chirped: "I finished another sketchbook."

I remember being torn between whether I should chuckle at her classic behaviour, or shout and get angry at the connection to Jocelyn (I refuse to call that woman my mother). So I just said "That's nice," and she noticeably sobered up after that.

"So how's Germany treating you?" She asked, more serious now, but still with a spark of cheer.

"Good," I said distractedly. I've never liked having to answer questions like that: it's boring and difficult summarising your life in a few sentences. "I made a new friend."

"Oh?" You could hear her interest through the phone. "What's he like?"

"Uh, cool." I said in response. How are you meant to describe a person without making them sound like any other? "He's funny, but not too smart. Clary, I need to go, I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "I'll be waiting."

I hung up.

* * *

"Again: that just sounds like a perfectly normal conversation between two awkward siblings in different countries." Isabelle insisted.

"Yeah," Maia butted in, "except Jon and Clary are, like, the _least_ awkward siblings in history. Besides, didn't you note the fact that this conversation was at _one in the morning_?"

"Point taken."

"We need to take all the points we can," Alec said. Jon was glad he seemed to have taken to lead. From the looks of it, he'd had the least connection to Clary - emotionally, at least - so he could probably think the straightest.

"I was wondering when Jon's part of the story would come in," Jace said thoughtfully, leaning back on the back two legs of his chair and casting his gaze up to the ceiling.

Something - a question - clicked in Jon's brain. "Speaking of when something would come in," he said slowly, the realisation coming as slowly as the dawn. "When do you Lightwoods come into the story?"

Simon waved a dismissive hand. "They didn't turn up at school for at least two months after you were gone. They had it difficult, because they started _right_ in the middle of the school year. Jon glanced up at the Lightwoods, who nodded the truth of the statement.

A loud crunch woke everyone from their consuming thoughts. Magnus had put out a box of cookies and was eating one, very noisily. "Why?" Maia asked, slightly caught off guard.

Magnus surveyed them all imperially, as though it was obvious. He swallowed the remnants of his cookie and reached for another. "If we've got another month to go before the Lightwoods even arrive, this story recounting will take a while."

* * *

 **It's probably awful, and if it is, my sincerest apologies.**

 **Review?**


	5. Estranged

**Estranged**

 _SADNE_

"Anyone else have something to say?" Jon grumbled. Magnus's apt observation had only put in mind how far they had to go. For Clary's sake, he would go there, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

He swivelled his head to scrutinise everyone on the table. No one volunteered to speak. "Anybody?" He snapped, beyond irritated now. A loud crunch severed the last straining strand of reason he had left and he jabbed his finger at the culprit. "Magnus. You're the one with the cookies. Talk."

"What do the cookies have to do with anything?!" Magnus cried, crumbs spraying out across the table from his full mouth. But at Jonathan's stern look he swallowed what hadn't been spat out and admitted, "I might have one incident in mind."

"Spill. Now."

"You don't need to be so bossy, Jon," Isabelle chided.

Jon glowered. Chiding him was Clary's job. "Shut it, Lightwood."

* * *

It was perhaps, six weeks after you left? Clary was acting weird. She just seemed really hard on herself all of a sudden. I'd noticed in the days leading up to this particular incident that she'd dialled down her clothes a bit - you know how she always used to wear bright colours? - and that she was now wearing these drab brown and grey t-shirts, but I didn't think anything of it at first. I just figured she wanted to change her style; it's not unheard of. It's perfectly legal. Not to mention the fact that she'd commented to me just before you left that she felt she needed to change. I thought it was just a reflection of her mother's abandonment, and I empathised with that.

But her clothes were just so... un-Clary. There's no other way to describe them. She normally wears bright and cheerful colours, no matter how hideously they clash with her hair, and comfortable garments, like soft shorts and baggy t-shirts. But the change, once you looked at her, was apparent. She now wore dark colours, the type of clothes that would blend into a crowd, and she purchased a hoodie that practically swallowed her up every time she wore it.

But I don't think I really noticed, until the day she dyed her hair.

Everyone knows that one fundamental fact about Clary: she has red hair. She. Has. Red. Hair. It was as plain and simply as the sky was blue, and typically it would always be, because she has never been the type of person to change that. I remember one time a kid came up to her and said "You're hair's too red; it's really ugly," and she just batted his hand away when he tried to touch it and said coolly that it just gave her that much more of an excuse to be feisty and fiery. She was proud to be a redhead, and everyone knew that.

So the day I was waiting outside of my English class, everything I knew about her had to be reassessed. Because she walked down the hall with brown hair, still as frizzy as ever, but _brown._ And I think then I noticed the big grey hoodie she put her hands in the pockets of, and the long jeans that encased her slim legs. As she walked past, instead of smiling and waving, she just nodded at me, and continued on. It hurt at the time, but I remember being too preoccupied with her drastic change in image to pay too much attention to the pain.

Then, about five minutes later (you know how tardy Mr Aldertree can be to lessons), I saw Sebastian - who, as of then, was still dating Clary - saunter down the corridor. He was clearly late, considering I knew he had the next lesson with Clary and she'd been heading to the other side of the school, but he didn't seem to be in a hurry. He just meandered down the corridor, and I, with nothing better to do, watched him as he went down. I was especially intrigued on Clary's behalf when Kaelie - you know, Seelie's younger sister? - called his name and he stopped next to her to chat. She, being Seelie's sister, kept smiling flirtatiously up at him and here I was bristling a little at the nerve of it. Then she flicked her hair over her shoulder, and ran her hand down his chest. She then kissed his cheek - something that even _Clary_ does rarely - and sashayed away, looking incredibly smug at what she'd done.

At what Sebastian had let her do.

* * *

Jon's hands on the table were once again clenched into fists. "Are you saying he's been _cheating on my sister_?" He growled out through gritted teeth.

Magnus cocked his head to the side, face set and expression grim. "No. Just heavily implying it." Jon's jaw clenched. "That's what it looked like, at least."

Jonathan's head swivelled round the table. This time, no one flinched at his levelling glare; after all, he'd been subjecting them to it for a good few hours. Jon set his eyes on the table, staring at one specific point to try to calm his racing pulse. "And none of you people thought to mention your suspicions to her?" He forced out, clamping his anger down and weighing his face into stiff calm.

Simon leaned forwards. The fact that it was his sister's _best_ friend - who'd been in love with her at some point - that chose to answer his question, showed coordination; they knew that the closer the person who explained there reasoning to Clary was, and the more he knew that person cared for her, the less likely he would be to dismiss their intentions. "What would _you_ do, Jonathan?" Simon asked, and his voice was unnervingly cool. "Would you risk damaging her already fragile psyche just to assuage your looming guilt at holding a potentially destructive secret?"

He leaned back again, and surveyed everyone like Jonathan did; the only contrast was that he observed them like a general observes his troops, rather than a man looking for someone to blame. "Every one of us, has bore that guilt, because _we all knew about it._ But we chose to do nothing, because we wanted the best for her."

"So you lied to her?" Jon scoffed. "That was your method of _saving_ her? Look where she is now!"

Simon forced himself to take a deep breath. Jon had never seen the boy this angry before. "It at least delayed her inevitable breakdown!" He shouted back, and then his chair was flung back and he was standing as he shouted. And Jon was struck by the sight: this boy - _man_ \- who he'd grown up seeing his sister depend on, who'd been home as often as Clary, who he'd loved like a brother, was shouting at him, shattering the image of the weak boy who'd always needed protecting from the cruel world. He'd grown up, been forced to grow up by the raw pain and anguish ripped through his voice and slashed into his face, yanking the tears that now brewed in his eyes out and down his cheeks. The pain, that was born of love for a lost girl, was mirrored in the image of every person around this table, because they wouldn't be here if they didn't care what happened to her.

And then Jon felt the broiling shame that he'd fought off with anger. Because he couldn't pull the protective big brother act and live with himself. _He_ had abandoned Clary just as much, and more so, than these people. He was the one who was never there for her to cry with, or talk to. And in his absence, she had formed new, seemingly unbreakable bonds with several strangers, and he dreaded to think that when she woke up, she might not need him anymore.

He was no longer unsure about whether she would survive. He now knew she had too much to live for, right here in this room, right now, to just fade away.

Her hospitalisation hadn't been the only thing he'd missed out on.

Just like that, the anger drained away and he slumped back in his chair, covering his eyes as his face burned in humiliation and he shuddered with dry sobs.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, but no one replied, because the only one he wanted to apologise to wasn't there, and might never be again.

* * *

 **So... None of that last part was planned, but I just sort of went with it. I've almost finished the overall draft of this story, not to mention I'm on school holiday, so the updates should be more frequent. I've worked out this story will have exactly 25 chapters.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mortal Instruments, or any of the characters. I'm just putting them through rough situations. :(**

 **Review? What do you think?**


	6. Shunned

**I've finished the entire plan of this story, so expect fairly regular updates. I'll try to always update every few days.**

 **I know Clary's birthday is sometime in August, but I just changed it for the sake of this fic.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI; I own nothing but the plot.**

* * *

 **Shunned**

 _SADNES_

"So," Jon said, quickly recovering from his outburst. He sat, and folded his hands demurely in front of him. "Who's next?"

Surprisingly, he didn't have to threaten someone into talking (Good riddance; that was getting tedious). Maia immediately volunteered.

"On the condition that there are no interruptions," she declared, giving the Lightwoods the Evil Eye. Jon stifled a laugh at that, apparently not very effectively, as he felt Jace's glare scorch through his skull.

* * *

On Clary's birthday, she was acting strange, although, looking back on it, it was probably normal behaviour for her by then. Normally, whilst she may not have condoned wearing skirts or dresses every single day, she would be willing to wear either on a special occasion, or with enough pestering. So when I went over to hers on the evening before her birthday to bring over the long flowy skirt I'd gotten for her, I didn't expect the fight that would accompany it.

"Maia," she said. "I'm fine with baggy shorts and a t-shirt. I don't need to wear a skirt."

I disagreed, and argued, "Clary, it's your birthday. You deserve to be able to wear whatever you want, without worrying about what other people might think of you."

She protested that, "I'm not worried about that!" but I've known her for years. I knew that was exactly what bothered her, if only on a subconscious level, and that that was why she was so defensive about it. You're never more defensive than when someone tells you the truth about yourself, and you find you don't like it.

"Yes, you are," I said. By this point she'd slumped into a sitting position on her bed, and I was painfully aware of her father downstairs, who could probably hear us, what with how loud we were speaking. I sat down next to her and tried to convince her again. "But that's okay. I know that you're not exactly on the best terms with Kaelie and Seelie and their lot, but if they're mean to you it's just because they're jealous. They see a kind of natural, unforced beauty that they don't have, and never will, and they want to destroy it in their spite. They're just bitter."

I'm pretty sure I started sounded like a poet at one point - something that she would no doubt hold against me as blackmail one day - but I didn't care so long as Clary was convinced. I suppose that in that moment, it wasn't about me or the skirt, it was about Clary. Because I knew that once upon a time she would never in her wildest dreams have been bothered by it, and it worried me that she was now.

She smiled tiredly at me - though I didn't realise she was tired at the time. I just thought she was finally caving, and agreeing to wear it to show she was immune and unaffected by others' opinions. Now? Now I think she was just too tired to continue arguing, and the abusive comments she fully expected to receive were worth receiving just so she didn't have to fight me anymore. At the time I thought it was a sign of her resurfacing strength; now I think it was a sign of her crumbling spirit.

So the next morning, she wore the skirt. It was quite nice, and hugged her small but noticeable curves quite well, and was vertically striped with faded colours. With her yellow top, she looked like a lady from around the time of the world wars, with a sort of demure elegance. It stood out from everyone else.

Normally on special occasions, she'd consent to me doing her makeup. But I didn't want to push it this time round, and the matter was never discussed. Nor did I bring up her new hair colour; I just figured it was her way of distancing herself from her mother, who she was understandably quite angry with at the time.

So she walked in to school next to me, wearing the dress, and smiled a genuine smile at Sebastian, who smiled in return. (I'd just like to state that I disagree with Magnus on the count of Sebastian cheating on her. If you were there, you would have seen it. Maybe their relationship _was_ falling apart at the seams, and they acted more like friends, but both of them are honest people and Sebastian wouldn't cheat on her). So she stopped to talk to Sebastian, and I heard her laugh quite a lot as I walked on to my locker; it was like the cheerful colours she wore cheered her up.

It was a nice sound, and I guess I noticed at that moment how long it had been since I last heard it.

I didn't notice anything amiss until lunch, when Aline (you know, Sebastian's cousin? The one who's practically his sister? He does live with her after all. . .) came up to me, and asked, "Why isn't Clary wearing her normal brightly coloured birthday dress? Or even a skirt?"

I looked up then, and sure enough saw Clary sitting a little way away (it took longer than usual to find her, what with her having brown hair and me not being used to it), no longer wearing her bright colours, but instead with her small frame swallowed by her absurdly large, grey hoodie.

She looked like she'd been crying.

I didn't need to look at Kaelie and Seelie in the corner, to put together the pieces and understand what had happened.

* * *

There was a moment of silence after Maia had finished, but no one commented on what she'd said; after all, they'd all expected it after they caught the gist of what the story was about. Jace had clenched his fists when Maia put forward her take on the Sebastian issue, but he had said nothing.

Finally, just because the silence was leaving space in his mind for dark thoughts to take root, Jon broke it with a not unrelated, but not related comment. "Have any of you been to visit Clary?"

Isabelle only raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the question, whilst her brother Alec remained stoic in his silence, but the comment was met with expressions of outrage - and almost offence - by all the others.

"Of course we have!"

"What do you take me for?"

"How dare you suggest otherwise!"

Once the cries had died down, practically everyone except Alec and Jon were standing, glaring daggers at the latter, who remained unfazed. He raised his hands in a rather petulant gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay. I was just asking. The nurse who was watching her when I was there never mentioned you."

"Yeah, well next time try to make it sound a little less accusative!" Jace snapped, retaking his seat and sneering in Jon's direction.

"What about Da- Valentine. Has he visited her?" As a sudden thought struck him, his hands - still waving around by his head - curled into fists. "Where _is_ he?"

Simon scowled at the question. "He cracked under the pressure," he spat, distaste twisting his face and colouring his tone. "I said earlier on that the house seemed quieter with you and Jocelyn gone. But the main reason it was so quiet was because Valentine was never there anyway." He practically snarled, and Jonathan was almost afraid of the anger he saw writhing in Simon's face. "He couldn't bear that the only person who had willingly stayed with him out of his perfect family was the daughter who looked so much like the woman he'd lost, and he fled the moment the news came in."

Then the anger cracked, to be replaced by sorrow. "He's never visited Clary in hospital; he just filled out the necessary paperwork for her and went to stay in some hotel."

"Ah," Jonathan was all said, trying not to burn up in his rage, because what else was there to say?

* * *

 **I love writing the different takes on Sebastian and Clary's relationship. It's just so conflicted.**

 **Review?**


	7. Shameful

**I said that I'd update sometime in the weekend, and it's Friday night where I am, so I was technically right.**

 **So, no memory in this one, because I looked over what I'd originally planned to write, and I don't think it was necessary or important to the plot.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.**

* * *

 **Shameful**

 _SADNESS_

The silence stretched for far longer than Jon would have preferred, and he found himself actually grateful for Jace's presence when the guy said, "That's all very depressing and selfish and whatnot, but we're here to talk about Clary, not her idiot of a father."

Jon could have kissed him.

"Right. Yes. Of course." Simon stammered out, flexing his hands. Jon would usually roll his eyes and scoff at the boy's unbalance, but he empathised right now. It'd been a stressful day.

At a loss for things to say in the silence, Jon idly tapped his fingers on the top of the table. When he glanced back up, the awkwardness of the situation drying his throat to a tube of sandpaper, he did a genuine double take when his eyes unconsciously flicked to the clock mounted above the door to the garden. They'd been sitting here for hours, and as he deigned to look out of the window, he realised that the sky was the sunset's trademark shade of violet.

"You guys had better go. . ." He said slowly, loathe as he was to end this little session. Who knew that teenage angst, shouting, and painful memories could make the hours fly by so quickly? "It's getting late. But we'll meet back here immediately after school tomorrow to pick up where we left off."

Maia's look was scathing, but with a twinkling amusement, and. . . was that affection? "It's a Saturday tomorrow, Jon. I mean, unless you're into all work and no play, which is completely fine, but. . ." She shook her head; her dark curls bounced round her face. "I don't think so."

"Right." Jonathan jabbed a finger in Maia's direction. "That. I knew that." He paused to collect his thoughts. "Actually, that's great. So get round here at ten o'clock sharp by tomorrow and that means we have the whole day to kill."

"And by 'kill', I presume you mean 'fill with shouting, anger, heartbreak, disagreements, and just general teenage angst'?" Isabelle cut in dryly.

Jon pointed at her. "Couldn't have phrased it better myself."

* * *

After a while everyone was up and out of the house. Jon had walked upstairs to his old room early on in the movements, trusting the teenagers to show themselves out. After all, he'd walked in the other day and they'd just been sitting in his kitchen, stealing food like it was their own. He could trust they knew where the door was.

His room was as he remembered from several months ago - before everything fell apart. The bed was messy from where he'd slept in it for the past few days, but the rest of the place was untouched. He hadn't even unpacked his suitcase. His posters were still on the walls, though one seemed to have peeled off and was now only stuck on by the tacks on the bottom two corners. He breezed past it without a care. The same books he'd been planning to read but had never got round to even leafing through were stacked carelessly on the desk in a higgledy-piggledy order; the same clothes were dangling lazily from the handle of the wardrobe - Jocelyn's silent reminder that she did the washing and ironing, and he could hang up his own clothes. The crisp, neat shirts dragged the breath out of his lungs as soon as his eyes fell on them, and he ripped them off of the hangers and tossed them into the bottom of the wardrobe with a violent ferocity that scared even him.

He then stood examining the room, fists clenched so hard that he was half afraid his nails would pierce the skin and send blood dripping onto the dusty floor.

Jon felt his chest contract tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter until it was a tight ache in his ribs that only drew taut when he dragged his eyes over the scene in front of him. The image of a boy's room - a boy with a mother who didn't resent him, a father who wasn't a weak coward, and a sister who wasn't comatose. The boy he had been, before his mother's abandonment had been the kick start in a long chain of torturous events, similar to the way that when the first domino topples over, the fall of the others is inevitable.

As the thought grew, it hardened into what felt like truth. He blamed Jocelyn for his world's - for his _family's -_ collapse. If only she'd stayed, and sucked it up. Or maybe if she'd still left, but finalised the divorce first, and still agreed to _visit_ them. Not throw them away like so much rubbish on the street. If only she hadn't torn a hole right through the centre of the family she'd claimed to love, he wouldn't have run off, and would have been here for Clary to lean on when she'd started feeling the beginnings of her depression. Valentine, whilst admittedly still being heartbroken, would have actually been able to look at Clary, and help her during her traumatic times. He might have been home when Jon returned, or at the hospital. Or not, because better yet, Clary might not have been hurt at all.

"You know, it's not all her fault." Came a voice from behind him. Jon turned so fast he got whiplash, only to see Jace hovering uncertainly in the doorway. Despite the shock of seeing him there, a distant part of Jon's brain registered that this was the first time Jace seemed truly uncertain, rather than just wary - the way he had been after Jon's mini breakdown.

"How did you know I was thinking about Jocelyn?" Jon asked, then the situation hit him. "And what are you still doing here?"

Jace blatantly disregarded his second question, but his answer to the first took his mind off of his irritation for a moment. "Um. . . I didn't. I thought you were thinking about Clary."

Jon's head jerked up then, eyes blazing. Then he gave a sharp laugh that was actually more amusement than bitterness, to Jon's own surprise, though there was a fair amount of both in it. "You think that after how close I came to crying down there, I could ever possibly blame _my sister_ for this mess?" He snorted. "I hope you were far more observant when it comes to Clary, Lightwood, because otherwise it doesn't seem like you'll have much to contribute when your turn to speak rolls around."

"It's Wayland, actually." Jace said, slipping into the room. "But that's beside the point." He went to half sit down on the side of Jon's bed. Jon raised his eyebrow at the nerve. "It's not all Jocelyn's fault either."

"Care to explain, _Wayland_?" Jon sneered in response, his softening attitude towards Jace regaining its former rigidness.

Jace met his cool green stare - like ice - with a heated gold one - like fire. "I do care. Haven't you noticed by now?" Jon flinched minutely, but Jace continued regardless. "I agree; Jocelyn _did_ do you wrong by leaving completely out of the blue. It _did_ mean your family started to unravel. She _could_ have handled it better." A pause. "But she left for a reason. She was clearly unhappy here. Did you expect her to throw away her life, to keep herself chained to a place she so desperately wanted to leave? I agree she was selfish, but she is human, and she had enough incentive for actions, if only so she could justify them to herself later."

"What would _you_ know?" Jon threw back, but they both knew he was just angry because he needed someone to blame, and Jace was showing him that perhaps there was no one who deserved the blame at all. But he couldn't blame the world, could he?

"I know, because I've seen it," Jace said simply. "I call Alec and Isabelle my siblings, but they're not - by blood, at least. They're my cousins. My mum, Celine, was Alec's dad's little sister. Maryse and Robert are my godparents. My dad was a man named Michael Wayland."

He stopped briefly to take a ragged breath and Jon wondered why he was telling him this. Why would he trust him so? And more importantly, had he told Clary?

"He wasn't exactly the type to commit. I remember when I was five I walked in on him in the middle of entertaining a woman who wasn't my mother. Even at that age, I knew it was wrong, and I told my mum. When she confronted him about it, he just shrugged and left. No regrets." Jace himself shrugged them, though Jon guessed the gesture was as superficial as the ' _I'm fine'_ Clary had told him over the phone what seemed like so long ago. "She died six months later - of heartbreak, Maryse always said - and I was sent to live with the Lightwoods."

Jon bit his lip. How do you respond to a story like that? "Does Clary know that?" The boy asked finally.

Jace looked down, then slowly shook his head. "No. She knows why we moved, but not that."

Jon held his tongue, sensing that Jace had done enough divulging about himself. "If your dad left," the ivory blonde said slowly. "Then why are you sympathising with Jocelyn?"

Jace wore a peculiar expression then, like he was looking right through the man in front of him. "Because at least she stayed for this long. At least she was faithful, until she left. At least she loved you."

"She didn't-"

"You tell yourself that," Jace cut him off tiredly. "But then you look around and you can see evidence of her love in this very room." Jace Pointed finger at the shirt Jon hadn't managed to tear off the hanger, and Jon felt a pang as he realised the love with which it was washed, with which it was ironed, and folded. . .

No. He snapped his head back to reality. But then he looked up at Jace and made an offer he never thought he would make. "Do you want to come to the hospital with me, to see Clary? We still have a few hours before it closes to visitors."

A pause. Jace blinked once. Twice. Then: "Okay."

* * *

 **So wow. As I said, a large part of this chapter was cut out, but it's still one of my longest of this story.**

 **How did you react to this chapter?**


	8. Wounded

**My school year just started yesterday, so all of my updates will slow down (drastically). I'll do my best to keep on top of schedule though.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.**

* * *

 **Wounded**

 _SADNESS W_

The ride to the hospital was spent in silence. Jon, from where he was sitting in the drivers seat, was wisely using the time to think, and to wonder what the hell had come over him.

He'd _hated_ Jace, right from the moment he'd met him, and the feeling was mutual. And nothing had changed since then. True, he'd come to see how much Jace had. . . cared for, his sister. He'd witnessed first hand the anger and defensiveness borne from accusing her of anything, and how Jace was willing to even spill his difficult past to someone he hated, on the off chance it might help figure out who had hurt her. In hindsight, it was enough to win Jon's respect.

And he did respect the boy - man - to some degree. He did. And that was the only concrete thing he had to pin this absurd and utterly bizarre suggestion he'd come up with on.

Resigning himself to long mental self interrogation later, Jon sighed as he pulled the car into the car park of the county hospital. Jace looked over at him, calculating, wary - like always. But Jon offered him a small, tired smile, and Jace, looking uncertain of himself, smiled back.

Jon sighed at the hopelessness of the two of them. If this was his sister's future boyfriend, he would _try_ to be civil. He knew that most, stereotypical "overprotective" brothers would beat up anyone who showed a flicker of interest in their baby sisters, but he, to his own heartbreak, was not one of them. And he owed it to the comatose redhead to _not_ give one of the people she loved a concussion.

It was the least he could do.

So he forced himself to remain civil to Jace as he grunted, "We're here." He did his absolute best to not let his anger show in his tone, words or actions, as he strode towards the all too familiar doors. Not necessarily anger at Jace, but more of anger at the messed up world, for letting such a pure soul get hurt.

He paused in the doorway, when the entrance room was in plain sight. As his hesitation the revolving door kept moving and nudged him onwards, so he stepped out of it and just stood and stared.

He hadn't had time to wallow in nostalgia or recognition when he'd first come striding in here, a purpose too bright in his mind to stop and take in the similarities since the last time he'd been here. He'd simply marched right up to the receptionist's desk and demanded to know where Clarissa Morgenstern's room was.

But now, with uncertainty a living thing gnawing at his resolve, he paused to take it in. The smiling pictures of nurses and patients plastered on the walls, violently contrasting with the grim frowns set on the faces of the people milling about. The doctors striding to and fro, bringing news to frantic families that Jon didn't care enough to listen to but probably meant the world to them. The pristine white seats; the shiny, too clean, mirror bright floors.

The last time he'd been here was when Jon was eleven, and Clary ten. She'd just broken her arm falling off of the swings in the park and she was crying like the Nile had flooded her tear ducts, leaving salty dark stains on her face, her top, and his shirt from where he'd held her, face pressed against his chest. He remembered the steady, bruising ache in his hand from where he'd told her to grip it with her good hand, saying that the tighter she held on the less it would hurt. She repeatedly called his bluff as she screamed profanities (for a ten year old) at him, but he muffled them in the tight hug he encased her in.

He sighed at the memory, at the feeling of panic and the knowledge that this was the moment where he had to be the big brother. He had to be strong for his little sister.

He had never thought he would look at the pain and suffering of that day and convulse with longing.

But that's what he did, as he and Jace strode towards Clary's room in silence. That had been a far simpler time. Their family was still whole. Their mother was there, their father was there and prepared to act like a father, hell, even _Uncle Luke_ was there. That was before Valentine and Luke had had that massive argument that sent Luke spiralling out of touch with them, so neither of the Morgenstern siblings had spoken to him in over six years.

"We're here," Jace said quietly, breaking Jon out of his melancholy thoughts. Jace's eyes sparked with something dull as they looked at Jon, and Jon was grateful to the golden blonde keeping his voice down, for respecting their fantasy that Clary was just sleeping, that she would wake any moment.

Jon stepped into the room, and his heart broke all over again at the side of Clary's limp form. His breathing stumbled and then he was sinking into the chair next to her and whimpering unintelligible sounds. At least he couldn't tell what he was saying. But Jace kneeled in front of him, then calmly but firmly detached Jon's big hands from his face. "Jonathan Morgenstern." Jace started, voice as steady and severe as any teachers. "Brewing in self-pity will not help you get Clary back. I'm going to quote a saying from my sister: 'Wallowing is for depressing people, elephants, and depressing elephants'."

Jace barely cracked a smile, but Jace went on unaffected. "None of these three things will in any way help Clary to wake up, or Clary's emotional state for when she does wake up. If anything, don't you think it will hurt her to know that she couldn't even rely on her idolised big brother to stay calm?"

"Idolised?" Jon choked out.

"Yes." He wondered how Jace could possibly look so calm. "You know, she never blamed you for not wanting to talk to her. She never blamed you for running off." Before, Jon would have expected a hard bitterness to be a shell around Jace's words. But they were soft, and aching, and Jon gave a thought to how much Jace must be hurting as well. Was he one of the people who had accidentally helped to shove Clary off of the cliff ledge? Was he consumed with guilt because of it? "She never stopped loving you, the perfect brother who could do no wrong."

But he had done wrong; they all had. Including Clary herself.

Jon clenched his fists, as Jace's words hit him where it hurt. "So you are _not_ going to drown in sorrow. You are _not_ going to break down within hearing distance of Clary's room, or in front of anyone who could potentially tell her of it. You are going to go out there tomorrow, round up the others and _find out what happened to her_. Only then will you be able to help her heal." Jace's golden eyes seemed to be the only steady thing in the room. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jon said, glancing to where Clary lay as still as the waxwork in Madame Tussauds. Now he knew to look for it, he could see the remnants of the brown hair dye she was said to have used, clinging to her fiery strands like the shedded skin of a snake trying to desperately cling on before it was discarded. "I understand."

* * *

"Let's go let's go let's go no time to waste hurry up." Jon rambled as he ushered a disgruntled looking Alec and Isabelle in the door and through to the kitchen, Jace's words having instilled an unbreakable sense of purpose in him. "Hurry up!"

Jace was already sat at the kitchen table, lazily drumming his fingers against the surface. He'd stayed the night in Clary's room, which Jon was trying his best to be okay with, since by the time they got back it was too late to get him home safely, not to mention his ride had left without him. If the Lightwoods noticed the lack of hostility between Jon and Jace that morning, they didn't comment on it.

Jon was just about ready to jump up and run to Maia and Simon's houses before the last three came in, Magnus with his glitter only half done, like he'd been rushing drastically whilst applying it. Judging by the venomous look he shot at Maia from where she walked in front of him, Jon found it pretty easy to guess what had happened.

Simon clearly noticed the new bond between Jon and Jace (not that it was hard; they were actually sitting next to each other and wore similar expressions of impatience) and unlike the Lightwood siblings, ventured a comment on it. "Why are you two so buddy-buddy all of a sudden?" He sent Jon a glance that was almost betrayed.

Jace sighed, and summarised it with a few careless waves of his hand. "We found a common goal. Now let's get on with it." Jace shot an unreadable glance at his sister. "I think we've heard enough of what happened before our arrival. It's your turn to speak."

As Isabelle leaned forwards, Jace turned conspiritually towards Jon and commented. "This is when it gets interesting."

* * *

 **What did you think? What do you think Isabelle will describe? I'm planning on the next chapter being one of the longest yet, and having two flashbacks instead of one, with two people's PoV's for the Lightwoods' first day.**

 **Was this good? Was it awful? Review!**


	9. Insecure

**Sorry for the wait, and I honestly don't have any excuse so... on with the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

 **Insecure**

 _SADNESS WI_

Well, nothing really significant happened on my first day until the lesson just before lunch. I had several of my lessons with Clary, and I remember in English - the last we had before lunch, that is - the teacher sat me right behind her. I couldn't help but notice that her hair, which at a glance, obviously looked brown at first, looked more like it had been very roughly dyed. You could tell, if you were looking, which I was, as it was a boring lesson, that the original colour used to be red - a very nice shade of red, actually. And I remember wondering why someone with such attractive hair would want to dye it.

Then the lesson was ending, and the both of us were doing our best to back out of the classroom before the teacher asked us to help tidy up or something. But on the way out I accidentally knocked her pencil case off of the table and sent all her pens and pencils scattering over the floor. I muttered an apology as she knelt down to pick them all up, and bent down next to her, bag swinging over my shoulder, to help her.

When she saw what I was doing, she went bright red, then looked down to let her hair swing forwards to cover her face, mumbling an almost unintelligible thank you. As she stood up again, I stood with her, and for the first time I noticed how tiny she was. Like seriously, she was like one of those teeny weeny pixies that you read about in folklore. And she seemed to have the shy and antisocial yet somehow sweet disposition of one too.

So I simply said, "You're welcome," in return, and watched as she shouldered her bag and turned to leave. I jogged after her, and tapped her shoulder. She flinched at the contact, but I pretended not to notice as I fell in step beside her on our way down the corridor. She cast me a panicked look and began to walk faster, but I just increased the length of my stride and kept up with no problem. "Hey," I said. She tensed at the intrusion.

I rushed on regardless, feeling slightly uncomfortable that I was taking advantage of her like that. "As I'm sure you know, from the teachers introduction and everything, my name's Isabelle Lightwood, and I'm new here? Do you think I could perhaps sit with you at lunch? I haven't made any friends yet, and I've got no idea where my brother's are."

"'Course you can," came a cheery voice. Clary jumped a little - I was beginning to think she was the jittery sort of person who freaks out at the smallest things - and I looked up to see Maia leaning against a colourful display board just where the corridor turned to the left. Maia took in my expression, stuck her hand out and said, "I'm Maia Roberts, one of Clary's best friends." She assessed me with a sweep of her amber eyes. "And I'm presuming you're new here?"

I nodded, taking her hand. "Isabelle Lightwood," I replied, making sure to smile. "I just moved to this school with my brothers."

Maia smiled, and nodded, flicking her eyes to the side. "Oh yeah, I remember. I've got Music with your brother. . . Jason, was it?"

"Jace," I corrected, and laughed slightly at the thought of the look on Jace's face if he knew that a girl he forgotten his name. Maia smiled at me, apparently misconstruing my laughter for something else, and gestured with her free hand towards Clary, then the door.

"So, I see you've met Clary," she said. "I apologise for her silence. She's not normally so shy." She tossed her friend a fond smile, but there was a touch of worry mixed in with it. "Shall we head in? Simon and Magnus have already got us a table, and Mags is flirting with this black haired boy from his year."

I raised an eyebrow, but followed her in to sit round a circular table with three other teenagers at it: Simon, Magnus, and Alec. I laughed to myself when I realised Alec was the boy Maia had been talking about. We made the brief introductions, Simon commented that Alec and I looked freakishly similar, and Clary skipped off to join the monstrous snake known as the lunch queue.

Nothing really happened until she came back.

Once she did, Maia and Magnus started on what seemed to be a traditional daily rant about how the pasta she'd picked up seemed green, the cheese was too stringy, and the pudding, which was comprised of two chocolate chip cookies, seemed to be rock hard. Personally, I tasted the cookies myself, and thought they were to die for, but each to his own, I guess.

And I was a bit too focused on wondering why, if the teasing and complaining was a daily occurrence, Clary looked so uncomfortable where she sat, flushing with slight self-consciousness. She looked almost as socially challenged as Alec. And if she'd known these people for years, I couldn't help but muse, why was she so awkward around them?

However, I was very rudely flung out of my psychoanalysis by the arrival of Jace, who sauntered up to our table and plopped down in the spare seat next to me, drawling "Hello, there, Izzy and Alec. And hello again, Clarissa. Fancy seeing you here."

Simon narrowed his eyes at Jace and spat, "How do you know Clary? Isabelle tells us you people just moved here last week."

Jace surveyed the table with a lazy smile, eyes lingering on Clary for a beat longer than anyone else. This sparked my fantasies, considering that Jace never showed the remotest interest in _anyone_ and without realising it, I was suddenly planning their wedding in my head. "Oh, I had the pleasure of meeting Clarissa here in Art earlier today. I have to say, it's an encounter I won't forget."

Clary flushed bright red, half anger, half mortification, and opened her mouth to say something, but the look faded when she caught sight of someone over my shoulder. Her face broke into a beam. "Sebastian!" She called hopefully, waving her arm.

The dark-haired boy - who I now know was Sebastian - slid onto the bench next to Clary, leaned over to peck her on the cheek, and enveloped her small hand with his large one, but I barely registered these actions, because my gaze had its focal point fixed to Jace's face, in particular the look of confusion and slight chagrin that passed over it.

* * *

The moment Isabelle was finished, Jace, who seemed to have been bursting to say something for the majority of the retelling, whirled on Maia to exclaim, "You forgot my name!?"

Maia rolled her eyes. "Why would I remember it?"

"How many Jace's do you know!?"

"That's really what you're focusing on right now?" Jon cut in to address the other blonde, slightly surprised. But he had the sinking feeling that Jace had only accused Maia of that to avoid the questions that would undoubtedly be flying his way without the distraction; the ones that addressed the subject of Isabelle's final sentence. The heated glare he'd been sending his sister - adoptive sister, whatever - towards the end of her speech had all but proved it. Jon wasn't sure whether or not to let it go.

But he did, if only because he wanted to preserve this newfound camaraderie between them. That, and the fact that arguing over Jace's feelings - ones that Jon had no doubt would be explained later - would waste more time than they already had with the general bickering and animosity.

Well, he sort of left it alone.

"What I want to know," Jon started slowly, and registered Jace's flinch, then his guarded expression, as the boy mentally prepared himself for what he thought was coming, "is what actually happened between you and Clary."

Jace breathed a sigh of relief, casting Jon a grateful look. The latter only raised an eyebrow, face set in stone. Had he not realised there were no favours here? If he thought that the truth about Jace's feelings would help their investigation, he'd question the teen until his ears bled, whether it left him with a little mental scarring or not. Otherwise, it was an unnecessary battle he wasn't willing to fight.

"Well," Jace began. "As I said, we had a very interesting encounter in our Art class. . ."

* * *

Art was the first lesson of the day, and I'd walked in halfway through, due to my picking up my timetable and getting the rundown and everything. So when I popped in, the teacher introduced herself as Miss Bellefleur and introduced me to the class, then told me to sit next to Clary. When I asked who that was, Miss Bellefleur just said, "The girl with the red hair," and I was left to puzzle it out on my own as obviously she _didn't_ have red hair as of then, and Clary didn't seem to be paying much attention to the new student, just keeping her head down and continuing with the watercolour and ink drawing she'd been assigned to do.

So I was basically resigned to squinting at her hair and deducing that it _could_ pass for red then just dumped my stuff in the chair next to her, deciding that I didn't care if I was wrong. I glanced at the task written on the board and started to get to work on " _painting an image of some form of weather using the watercolours and the ink"._

For the first half hour, the only time Clary spoke to me was to snap that I should get my own water pot, because between us we'd just muddy the water. But then towards the end, when we were coming to a finish, I looked over at Clary's work and whistled appreciatively. "That's amazing," I said, and I meant it. It was.

She'd painted a thunderstorm, with brilliant forks of lightning coming down out of the clouds to strike what she depicted as a lone dead tree on a barren hill. The bolts were accentuated with faint brown ink, making them seem edgy against the coordinated series of darker and lighter purplish-grey splotches that made up a cloud. The tree was just a shadowy silhouette, and the hill dotted with sparse flicks of ink to show where withered grass remained.

All in all, it was phenomenal.

She didn't respond to my praise, whether to blush or to absorb it with cockiness. Clary just looked over at mine, furrowing her eyebrows, then met my eyes with dead solemnity and said in all serious, "Are you in love with yourself?"

I choked, because in al honesty, where the hell had that come from!? "What?"

She shrugged, then gestured to my painting with her - thankfully dry - paintbrush. "I get that you're painting a sunny day and all, but I'm pretty sure not even when you're painting the sunbeams do you need _that_ much gold." She tilted her head; brownish red hair tumbled over her shoulder. "It's a bit overloaded to be perfectly honest."

"And how does that link to me being in love with myself?" I inquired, attention snagged on this strange anomaly of a girl.

She looked at me like it was obvious. "Look in a mirror. You're all gold. Gold hair, gold skin. . . You've even got gold eyes, and I didn't realise they existed." She shrugged, then looked back down at her painting. "So I wondered if this was your way of expressing your undying love for the way you look."

I let out a loud guffaw, and doubled over, very nearly face-planting the desk and plastering my golden work all over my golden face. She only watched with inquisitive eyes at my reaction. "Is this your way of saying that _you're_ in love with me?" I countered cheekily, and took no small amount of pleasure at the violent blush that swarmed her cheeks.

She didn't say anything for the rest of the lesson, which I supposed was my fault but that didn't mean I was any less disappointed. She was an interesting girl.

When it was time to leave the classroom, she got out of there just before me. I made to follow, because something about that girl seemed. . . intriguing, but I stopped when her face suddenly lit up like someone had replaced her pores with fairy lights and flicked the switch. She called out "Sebastian!" and I watched as her gaze tracked a dark haired boy in our year as he shoved his way down the corridor.

But he didn't look back, and I watched as Clary's face fell to further below what it had been before.

* * *

"So _that_ was why you were so confused when Sebastian showed affection to Clary at that lunch," Alec said, his first contribution for a while. "You were surprised he acknowledged her at all."

Jon rapped his knuckles on the table. "I'm sorry, but are we all talking about the same person here?" He demanded, with a slight irritation. Everyone seemed to have different takes on his sister's ex-boyfriend. "You," he pointed at Magnus, "are convinced he's cheating, whilst _you_ ," he pointed at Maia, "are convinced of the opposite. Simon seems indifferent towards him, Jace seems to think he had a habit of ignoring people, and Isabelle seems to think he showed Clary more affection than _I_ do on a regular basis."

"You _n_ _ever_ show affection Jon," Simon pointed out.

"Shut up." Jonathan pointed at Alec. "Where do you stand?"

The boy in question held up his hands. "I've got no idea." He said. "I'm just as confused as you are."

Jonathan sighed in relief. "At least I'm not the only one."

* * *

 **So, longest chapter so far. I'm pretty proud of it.**

 **What did you think of the different PoV's of how Clary acted? Of Sebastian's seemingly different personalities?**

 **Review?**


	10. Listless

**Sorry again for the slow updating. I keep meaning to update after three or four days, but then I just forget about this story for some reason. Plus, I've been feeling really uninspired for this. But I'm back now.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI. I'm not Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

 **Listless**

 _SADNESS WIL_

"So. . ." Jonathan drew the syllable out uncertainly. He turned back to Alec. "Have you got any stories to tell?"

Alec's eyes flickered to Magnus for a brief second before he swallowed. "Um, not any where I noticed her acting off or questionably, no."

Jon narrowed his eyes at the vagueness, suspicion radiating through his gaze. "Any encounters you want to get off your chest, at all?"

Isabelle cut in then. "Leave him alone! He's my brother! If he doesn't want to talk about it he doesn't have to talk about it!"

Jon sneered in her direction. "And she's my sister." He turned back to Alec. "If you really feel that it's irrelevant then by all means, keep it to yourself. But if it could potentially help our investigation-" Isabelle snorted at the word "- and you're holding back because you're ashamed of it for whatever reason, then spare me."

Alec gulped, even as his sister continued to protest, "Alec, you don't have to."

"No," he said finally. "It could help Clary. And after the encounter I'm about to describe," he gave an odd smile; his eyes glinted with a sort of. . . _off_ light, "I owe it to her to give her a shot of happiness, after I cut her down the way I did."

Jon raised an eyebrow at him, but was surprised to find that no anger flared at the knowledge that Alec had hurt Clary in some way. Perhaps it was because he admired the courage the boy - man? - had to own up to it in front of all of them.

"Continue," was all he said.

* * *

So, if we start off on the day of the first lunch where Jace was shamelessly flirting with Clary and just in general being annoying. Don't deny it, Jace; you were.

It'd been a fairly. . . tiring. . . day, what with the teachers forcing me to speak out in front of the class, and people around me trying to _talk_ to me in lessons instead of doing the assigned work, and then me not knowing anyone in any of my classes whilst even Jace and Izzy had each other. . . Well, I was in a bad mood.

It sort of improved when I met Magnus in my Maths class. He was so. . . eccentric; I was fairly star-struck by the sheer amount of glitter that twinkled on him. I swear, I genuinely thought he must have raided the god of glitter's temple or something. It kind of hurt my eyes to look at. Not to mention his eyes - a weird metallic greenish-gold - were decorated with a luminescent eyeshadow. I remember wanting to look away.

I'll admit: he was a raging pain to begin with, and I wanted nothing more than to tell him to shut up, but eventually it became. . . I don't know. But it started to grow on me. Like, I was grateful for it when someone came up to me and tried to strike up a conversation where I would actually be required to _speak_ , rather than just nod my head and listen to the general gist of it, and Magnus very pointedly raised his voice and kept talking, until the person rolled his eyes and stomped off, grumbling something uncomplimentary under his breath.

Magnus just beamed at me cheerfully, and said in response to my questioning look, "I didn't want to share you."

At the time - though I'm absolutely certain now - I wasn't sure if he was flirting with me, so I just let my cheeks flush dark red and glanced down at the paper, trying to take in the scrawled calculations I'd written on it - the ones I couldn't quite remember writing.

"So. . ." Magnus said, twirling a pencil round his finger as he drew out the single vowel until his lips were puckered into a shape reminiscent of the letter. "Have you made any friends in this hellhole of a school yet? I bet you have; people would just _love_ to be associated with a pretty boy like you."

I openly gaped at him for the last statement, then frowned as I considered his question, casting a furtive glance around the class. I leaned in conspiratorially. "No. People keep trying to talk to me."

Magnus laughed, a deep throaty sort of sound, and I shuddered. "Well," Magnus said, then tapped me on the nose with the rubber on the end of his pencil. I flinched back, then sneezed. "I'm pretty sure that's how most people make friends, my dearest Alexander."

"I'm not yours," I muttered but I don't know if he heard it. If he did, he didn't react, staying silent. I cleared my throat, and said "How did you know my full name?"

He shrugged. "I'm psychic."

I looked at him. He looked back.

He broke first.

"Fine!" He said, suddenly rocking back in his chair. The pencil he'd been twirling flew forwards at the force and whacked someone in the head. They twisted round and glared at Magnus, who gave them a lazy smile. Once they'd turned back round, Magnus turned back to me. "I guessed. And I caught a glimpse of your name on the register. Seriously, your last name is Lightwood? I thought that name was only ever used in books."

"And I thought the name Magnus was restricted to novels as well, yet here were are," I quipped back, to my own surprise, but I was undeniably pleased to see a slow smile spread across his bright purple lips.

"Imagine how much of a rarity the name Magnus Lightwood would be in real life then," he mused.

I froze.

And temporarily lost the ability to speak.

My eyes bugged out of my head.

He suddenly had his hands on my shoulders and was shaking me gently. "Hey, Alec. Breathe. Breathing is good." I began doing so. He let me go, though his fingers lingered slightly. "You okay? Sorry; I was joking. I didn't mean to freak you out."

I sucked in a breath, then said, "It's fine. I'm just not much of a talker, most of the time. Not a social butterfly."

Magnus nodded wisely, then grinned. "A man of few words. As I am a man of many, I'm sure we shall get along swimmingly."

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Magnus looked pleased with himself. "Swimmingly?" I choked out.

"Hey, it got you to laugh, didn't it?" A pensive silence, then: "If you don't have any other plans, would you like to sit with me at lunch? My friends are weird, but they're nice people." He considered that statement, then grimaced to himself. "Most of the time. Just don't insult anyone and you'll get along-" He cast me a sly glance. " _Swimmingly_."

I laughed. "I'll make sure not to." I promised, and he beamed.

* * *

Jace and Magnus high fived.

" _What_ are you doing?" Jon snapped out irritably.

"Magnus embarrassed Alec," Jace explained. "Not that it's hard, but Alec's face when he recounted it was hilarious. It's a cause for celebration."

Jon sighed his exasperation, then turned back to the rest of the table. "Continue," he told Alec, who took in a deep breath in preparation to launch into his next story.

"Yes; please do," Isabelle huffed, pursing her lips.

* * *

If we fast forward to the actual scene in the canteen - as I said, Jace was being a pain in the ass - and to the moment I wasn't sure what was happening. Jace seemed weirdly transfixed by this petite unremarkable redhead who couldn't seem to hold two seconds of conversation with anyone without some sort of blush making her cheeks burn like two dying supernovas. Then again I couldn't exactly talk; Magus kept up his ceaseless flirting and I'm pretty sure I was the colour of my tomatoes ninety percent of the time. It was mortifying.

Nothing really happened until after lunch was over and the bell rang, sending a collective wave of students going to their next lesson. I got up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and left. I turned a corner and stayed there to escape the rush of students that came out as I shoved stuff in my bag and turned to go. Before I could, however, I heard my name being called.

I turned just in time to see Clary jog up to me, her small, fragile frame seeming fairly dwarfed by her bag. As it bounced between her shoulder blades, I could hear the various sketchpads inside thumping against each other, and I remember wondering just how strong she was to carry so many at once.

She caught up to me and said, with a serious tone that suited the question, but one I was not prepared for, "Are you gay?"

I, of course, being the eloquent person I am, spluttered, and turned a fetching shade of plum. "Why would you ask that?" I snapped. Was I that obvious? "Why would you think it was any of your business?!"

She shrugged casually, but her shoulder were tense. "Because Magnus was flirting with you, and. . . he really likes you. I can tell. He would be flirting even more if he didn't; he was taking the fact that too much made you uncomfortable. And. . ." She looked away, tendrils of hair swinging forward to hide her face. "I don't know. I can't tell someone's sexuality as easily as Magnus can. He wouldn't be flirting with you, again, if he didn't think you were. But. . ." She shifted again, and looked at the ground. "He's been wrong before. And it broke his heart. He was never the same after Imasu." She shrugged. "So, I guess I'm just looking out for him."

I snapped. I know now that perhaps it wasn't a nice thing to do, but I was _scared_ , alright? At that point, only Izzy knew about my sexuality and she was the only one - no offence, Jace, but you've got a big mouth - I trusted to keep my secret.

"Why would you deserve to know?!" I shouted, dropping my bag. I wasn't sure whether her flinch was from the sound of the bag crashing to the floor, or my raised voice. "Why would you _want_ to know?! It's my problem, and you had to go and stick your pasty little freckled nose in it! Leave me alone! Take your intrusive inquiries somewhere else!"

She hadn't moved; in fact, she'd gone completely still. "I was just looking out for my friend," she uttered, again. "But fine. I'll take my concerns somewhere else."

As she walked away, I shouldered my bag again - perhaps not feeling as much guilt as I ought to have after my outburst.

* * *

"I'm surprised you're not raving, Jon," Simon remarked offhandedly, clearly uncomfortable at hearing such a personal story. "I mean, those were some pretty harsh words."

In his peripheral vision, Jon saw Alec wince. "Yes, they were harsh," Jon said carefully, painfully aware of the glares shot his way by Isabelle, Magnus, and Jace. "But warranted. It was Alec's business; he deserved to reserve the right to keep quiet about it.

Done with the awkwardness, he turned back to the raven-haired boy. "Have you anything else to say?" He asked, strangely weary.

Alec's blue eyes were shuttered. "Yes," he said slowly. "I do."

* * *

 **So, I extended this chapter, and added some on, just because i felt like the original chapter was pretty pointless otherwise.**

 **What do you think with happen next? Review?**


	11. Lost

**So, I only got one review on the last chapter, which was a bit disappointing, but I'll get over it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI. It belongs to Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

 **Lost**

 _SADNESS WILL_

So, later that day, Magnus and I separated to go to our own lessons, and I was wandering through the corridors a little before changeover, as my teacher had let my class out a little earlier than the rest of the school. I was idly walking around the corridors in a futile attempt to reach the classroom I was meant to be in next when Clary appeared.

She was the only other one walking around, and when she saw me she froze.

"Hi," I said awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck, because how do you greet someone when the last time you spoke you spat on them for trying to protect their friend and told them to mind their own business?

She looked petrified for an instant when we made eye contact, before her hand flew to the strap of her bag hanging over her shoulder and she stammered, "Hi."

I nodded in response. It was painfully awkward, with just the two of us in the corridor, exchanging niceties.

"Look," I said finally, acutely aware of how she seemed to shrink back with every word. I remember thinking that her shyness even gave mine a run for its money. "I'm sorry about how I reacted earlier. It's just. . . I'm not used to people knowing about my sexuality, and not even my parents know I'm. . . you know, gay. So when you were asking me about it earlier, I just kind of snapped. I'm sorry about that."

Her face didn't stop presenting a profound desire for the floor to swallow her whole and never burp her back up again, but she nodded, slowly, then with more vigour. "It's- it's fine," she mumbled. "I get that I was overstepping some boundaries, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"It's fine, Clary," I pressed, suddenly exhausted with the amount of effort it was taking to convince her that she wasn't at fault. Judging by how nervous she was around me, it must have taken a heroic amount of courage for her to ask the questions in the first place. "You were just trying to protect your friend; I respect that. And this Imasu fellow sounds like an asshole." I added as an afterthought. Clary's frightened gaze softened - minutely, but it softened. "It was nice of you to look out for Magnus the way you did."

Clary smiled slightly, looking down at her feet, and her cheeks were swarmed with a red blush. She looked back up, and opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by the harsh clacking of high heels against the floor.

"Hi, _Clary_!" A voice drawled. The girl in question flinched very obviously as another girl came into view. She had waist length curly red hair, a shade or two darker than Clary's, similar to the colour of blood; a face so pale I remember wondering whether she wore the lead paint Victorian ladies used to wear; and a tall, slender build. She smiled at Clary, but there seemed to be something off about it. "What are you wearing?"

Clary glanced down self-consciously at her ragged assortment of a dull grey t-shirt with shoulder straps about an inch thick, and dark wash jeans, her massive hoodie hiding most of it. Her face flushed again, but it was a much deeper red than when she'd blushed when I complimented her.

"I mean," the girl - who I later learned was called Seelie - gushed, coming over to lay a hand on Clary's shoulder. Her large size completely blocked Clary from my view, but I could see her long-nailed, perfectly manicured hand where it rested on the stretch of bare skin exposed as Clary's oversized hoodie slipped down her arm. "I could never in a million years pull off that outfit! I admire your confidence; truly, I do."

Clary replied something too quiet for me to hear. Seelie's shoulders tensed immeasurably, and she craned her neck to hiss something in Clary's ear. Again, I couldn't hear what was being said, but the change in Seelie's tone, and the amount of venom in it, was enough to tell me that the subject matter wasn't pleasant.

The hand resting on Clary's shoulder gripped her tighter, almost too tight, and then Seelie was pulling away, throwing some sickly sweet words at the poor girl, and sashaying back down the corridor. I glanced again at Clary's shoulder, and saw that there were four crescent rings where the nails had pierced the skin - and a smear of blood where it'd been left behind as Seelie retracted her claws.

Clary didn't make eye contact with me, eyes cast to the ground, as she walked away.

* * *

"And you didn't think to ask her what was wrong, because. . ?" Jon asked, his tone sardonic. Isabelle glowered.

Alec was oddly emotionless - and remorseless - as he looked right back at him. "What do you want me to say?" He challenged, and though his voice was soft, a thread of razor sharp steel ran through it, like he was threatening to raise it to a shout any second. "That I did the right thing?" He looked around the table. "Because, newsflash, doing the right thing _isn't always easy_. I didn't know how to ask what was wrong; I didn't know how to help her. So I didn't." His sculpted lips curled into a sneer then. "And you're in no position to judge people for their inactions, Jonathan Morgenstern."

A snarl was all he got in response.

Isabelle looked thoughtful. "This Seelie, is she the same one as who you thought Sebastian allegedly cheated on Clary with?" She asked. She received a curt nod from several people in response. "But why would he do that? He must have been well aware of their less-than-amiable terms. Was it just to spite her; to make her feel more pain? Was he _trying_ to hurt her? Or did he just not know, or just not care?"

Jon's mind was racing as Maia shrugged. "Dunno. And I suppose the only one who does is Sebastian himself."

"Of course!" Jon shouted then, jumping out of his seat. The others turned to him in question, but he ignored them. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before!"

"Think of what?" Simon asked, eyes narrowed.

But Jon was already moving, sprinting down the hallway, then swiping his car keys off of the table there. He yelled a quick, "I'll be back in ten minutes!" just before he slammed the door shut behind him.

The others were just left staring after him in awe.

* * *

 **Things start to pick up in the next few chapters, as a few characters who've been mentioned but not introduced yet come in (** ;) **) and more stories are added to the list.**

 **Review? They make me so happy!**


	12. Neglected

**Hello! Thank you for all your kind reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Neglected**

 _SADNESS WILL N_

Sebastian was annoyingly reticent when Jon pounded on his door. The ebony-haired boy just glowered at him, lips pulled down into a sneer, and when Jon tried to grab his wrist and drag him out, he remained unmovable, continuously glaring and demanding answers.

But after a few choice words rapped out with all the authority of a prison guard, Sebastian's face was set in determination and he followed Jon to his car. He'd sat there in silence as Jon explained the situation on the drive over.

And now he sat on Jon's right at the Morgenstern kitchen table. and looked slightly shell-shocked as he faced barrage of hateful questions from the other, severely pissed off teenagers in the room.

"How _dare_ you show you face here!" Maia seethed, and Sebastian cut her a derisive glance from where he was having a malicious stare off with Jace. Jon was almost vaguely concerned about the two of them; it was clear that Jace was the one who hated Sebastian the most, and the spite rolling off of both of them was radioactive. "How dare you come here after what you did to Clary?"

"What I did to Clary!?" Sebastian shouted back. "And what was that, exactly?"

Maia's look would have made a lesser man quail. But then again, Sebastian had dated Clary at her most confident, and had survived. In comparison, Maia's death threats were nothing. "You _cheated_ on her." She spat the word.

Sebastian barked a harsh laugh, but he had gone very still, his already pale face deadly white. "What." He took a breath, and sneered. "Is that what she told you?"

"She didn't - and didn't have to - tell us anything." Simon snarled. Jon, as one who'd known the boy since he was an awkward eight year old, was slightly unnerved at the unending rage and aggression in the boy's face. "It was obvious from how you were acting."

Sebastian's voice was gruff. "Why would I cheat on Clary? We _were_ friends before we started dating, and I would never want to hurt her. If I wanted out of the relationship, I would have spoken with her rationally and politely. We'd agreed that if we ever broke up, we'd stay friends, and even if I was extremely angry at her for whatever reason, I wouldn't have been driven to do _that_."

Jace spat, under his breath, "Bullshit." Sebastian sliced him a glare. Jace glared right back. "You were the one who hurt her in the end, out of petty jealousy."

Sebastian laughed again, and it was a joyless thing. "You say that like you didn't go and hurt her immediately after." By Jace's flinch, Jon knew that his words rang true, and Jon had to hide the curl of his fists under the table. Sebastian glared round the table, and this time, most flinched under his gaze. "Don't you lot start acting all self-righteous on me when you each played your part."

Jon wondered what that meant that they recoiled from his words, and what it meant that they hadn't told him yet.

"Calm down, Sebastian." Magnus quipped, trying to lighten the mood slightly. "We have a civil conversation with no swearing and minimal shouting," snorts of scepticism sounded, "and then you come, and everyone's cussing like a sailor. Well, Jace does."

Sebastian ignored him, as his eyes fell on Isabelle, and that already terrifying gaze grew more intense. Isabelle was the only one who hadn't flinched from it. "You can drop the act too, bitch. You just can't keep your mouth shut can you? I heard about what you said to her."

Isabelle's eyes glimmered and her voice cracked as she said, "That's _enough_."

"Izzy's right," Alec said. Sebastian glanced at him, and there was no hatred there. Maybe Alec was the only one who _hadn't_ pissed him off yet. "That's enough. We're not saying we're not in the wrong - that's actually what we're here to discuss. We're doing it in chronological order, so we're currently on the day my siblings and I joined the school. Any particularly worrying conversations you can remember having with her around that time, we'd much appreciate if you share."

Sebastian nodded slowly, then his gaze lazily drifted over the teenagers present in the room. It narrowed fractionally as it brushed over Jace and Isabelle, then softened again as it moved onto Simon and Maia. Of course; as angry as they were at each other, they'd been part of the same friendship group once, in the years before Sebastian struck out on his own, and he still cared for them deeply.

A dark chuckled rumbled from his mouth. "You genuinely believed I was cheating on Clary?" His asked, voice calm as his gaze flicked around the table. "Well, I was more worried about Clary cheating on _me_."

Silence, then, _"What?"_

Sebastian sighed, then rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "You heard me." His voice held an odd tone to it. "I was afraid of Clary cheating on me, with _him_ ," he jerked his head at Jace, like he couldn't even bring himself to look at the blonde.

"Why?" Isabelle breathed, all anger apparently forgotten.

Sebastian cast an irritated glance at her, but muted with weariness. "Because in that first lunch time, I saw how he was looking at her." He gaze turned wistful. "And he made her laugh; he made her blush. That's more than the rest of us can say for the past few months." His dark gaze slid to Jon. "By the way, that was the actions of an asshole, running away like that."

Jon said tightly, "I know."

A heavy silence fell.

Jon opened his mouth to say something, but the doorbell cut him off.

Scowling, he twisted up and out of his seat to jog down the corridor to answer it. Along the way he made sure to plaster on a fake smile, though the thought of smiling right now made him want to throw up.

Then he opened the door and saw who it was, and the smile dropped instantaneously. His face hardened into a feral snarl.

A woman stood there, with a man half a pace behind her. Her green eyes searched the faces in the doorway as he heard his friends pile in behind him. Then those eyes - so similar and yet so achingly different to his own - landed on Jon and froze.

He glanced back and saw a multitude of reactions behind him. Maia, Simon, Sebastian and Magnus had gone straight to fury, as had he, but the Lightwoods had frozen. Then he saw her undeniable resemblance to Clary dawn on them, and the anger in his face became reflected all around him like sunlight in a multitude of mirrors.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Jonathan spat with contempt, as Jocelyn Fairchild cast her eyes to the ground.


	13. Excluded

**So, I only got one review on the last chapter, which is a bit disappointing, but nevertheless thanks to the Guest who did review. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Excluded**

 _SADNESS WILL NE_

Jace's words from the other day seemed to be stuck on a conveyor belt in Jon's head as he stared at his estranged mother.

 _She loved you she loved you she loved you she loved you._

Jocelyn's eyes - his eyes; Clary's eyes - trailed over him, and all the people behind him. And there was an age old weariness in her gaze, especially as she looked at him, like he'd been nothing but an exhaustion to her from the day he was born.

He sneered at the thought.

But there was also regret in that gaze, and something akin to unflinching fondness. Jon cringed away from it.

 _The evidence of it is in this very room-_

 _Shut up,_ He seethed at his conscience, then cast his eyes back to his estranged mother.

For the first time he noticed the man standing half a pace behind her, twisting the hem of his blue shirt between two fingers, and shifting on his feet nervously. He had scraggly brown hair that sat untidily on his head, and laugh lines limned his face. His eyes were the colour of pale blue marbles, but they were hidden behind wire-rimmed spectacles, which he occasionally reached up to push back into position on the bridge of his nose. His had a brown face, and large hands that he used emphatically as he moved. His eyes cut to Jon's and he flushed, arms shifting to hug his torso like he was trying to defend himself from their harsh gazes.

Jon tore his gaze away, and fixed it on his mother. "Aren't you going to answer?" He spat again. She turned to look back and the man; he mouthed something in return.

Whatever it was, it had her squaring her shoulders and facing him head on. Her eyes seemed riveted to his face as she breathed, "Why don't you invite us in, and we can explain."

"Who's _'us_ '?" He scoffed, "Him? By all means, you can come in. But expect to start talking." He clamped down on his rage, but his eyes glittered like raw, uncut chips of emerald of he said scathingly, "Starting with why the _hell_ you think you have the right to come back here after your abandonment."

Jocelyn's throat bobbed, but she nodded, and they all filed to the side to allow her and the other man pass through.

But the moment they were all seated at the table again, Jon was glowering at his mother, and said, "Start talking."

She looked stricken. "Jon, I-"

 _"Don't_ call me that." He hissed. "You lost the right to that nickname. You can call me Jonathan." They glared at each other, but he didn't back down, and eventually Jocelyn capitulated. "Now _start talking_."

Jocelyn flattened her palms against the table, closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. She opened them again, and very carefully and conscientiously looked round the table, meeting everyone's eye. Jon was reminded of the days when he was little, and she would gather him and Clary in front of the fireplace to tell them stories in the evening. She had always been a good storyteller, and knew how to use her words to maximise the impact of what she was saying. Her gaze lingered on the man with the blue eyes with a look much too like romantic love for Jon's taste, then she looked at Jon.

Her face hardened until it could have been made of stone. "I came to see Clary." She said.

* * *

You all know I left my family; you're all angry at me because of it.

But I have to say, I wasn't happy here.

I know you probably all blame me, at least in part, for Clary's state. I know that. I blame myself. Even if I know there's not a chance that was the entire story, I blame myself, if only because I have no doubt that my leaving was the catalyst.

But, I repeat, _I wasn't happy here_. And I don't regret leaving.

Valentine and I had been arguing seriously for quite a while by then, and that was only the important arguments, like the ones fierce enough to warrant one of us sleeping on the sofa instead of it the bed with the other. We'd been rubbing each other the wrong way for around a decade. I disagreed with his careless and insulting attitudes towards what our friends thought; he disagreed with my penchant for politeness, calling me a "pushover". So we'd been bickering on and off, and I knew it had to stop.

So I organised that holiday. You remember the one, Jonathan? About a year ago. We'd hoped that more time together as a family would help us sort things out, but unfortunately not. We were cooped up for most of the time in the tiny cottage we'd rented on the Isle of Wight, and we were at each other's throats a lot of the time, kids included.

So we came home, and I said to Valentine that we needed to sort things out, or file for divorce. He agreed, surprisingly calmly, though I knew he was hurt, and we discussed it at length. He said we ought to at least try before we agreed to end it, and I listened to him.

But then Luke - this is Luke, by the way - showed up again. We had a sort of romance back in college, even if on this particular day he was only after friendship. We met up briefly, went to a coffee shop, and exchanged numbers, agreeing to stay in touch.

But Valentine found out, and he blew it way out of proportion. He was yelling at me, grabbing at me, accusing me of cheating, calling me names like bitch, whore, cheater. . . He didn't stop, even when I yelled right back. I don't think he was drunk, as his breath didn't smell at all like alcohol, but I don't think he was in his right mind. I think he would have been more reserved had he been.

I knew I couldn't stay.

I'd packed my bags up by midnight, and made to leave then, when he was passed out and snoring on the bed. I was down the stairs, and almost out of the door, when I heard a soft voice call, "Mum?"

I jumped and turned, heart palpitating wildly, to see Clary behind me, holding a glass of water. "Where are you going?" She asked.

I sighed. "I'm leaving, Clary." I said. "Your father-"

"I know what he said." She interrupted. "I could hear him from my room. I'd wager Jon could hear him too." She turned and set down her water on the side. I noticed vaguely that her hands were shaking. "But you're leaving?" She asked, sounding slightly lost. I nodded.

She shook her head, and took a step back. "You can't," she said, and by her voice, and fluttering eyes, I knew she was still processing it. "You can't. Dad- You- I- You can't." She swallowed, and her face crumpled. "You can't leave."

"I'll still come and visit you," I said, taking a step forward, then another step, until I could place a hand on Clary's trembling bowed back. "It's not forever."

She looked up at that; her eyes were bright with tears. "You promise?" She said. "You promise you'll come and visit me and Jon?"

"I promise I'll visit you." I said, then walked back to the door, and shouldered my bag again. "I'll see you before the month is out, okay?"

Clary nodded. "Okay."

She was still doubting.

So I looked her straight in the eye, one foot out of the door and in the night, and said again, "I promise."

* * *

 **Is anyone still reading this story? If so, please tell me your thoughts!**


	14. Vulnerable

**I know. It's been a while. And I'm sorry. But I'm back now! For now, at least.**

 **There's literally no point to this chapter, and I've got no idea where the angst came from, considering I've had a remarkably good day, but it's a necessary filler. The next one is more interesting, and things start to move along. All of your questions will be answered. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI. There simply is no way I could ever produce something as good as that book series.**

* * *

 **Vulnerable**

 _SADNESS WILL NEV_

"Coward," Jon spat at Jocelyn once she'd finished speaking. "You coward. Running away in the night? You didn't even visit her like you promised."

Luke cast her a wary look, then narrowed his eyes at Jon. Good. He needed someone to pick a fight with.

"I know," Jocelyn said, and the raggedness, the grief, the _agony_ in her voice just enraged Jon further. Who was she, to be upset, when she had caused so much suffering herself? Who did she think she was to cry over the daughter she'd abandoned? What right did she think she had to use tears and sobs to weasel her way into the good graces of those who would be angry at her, and suffocating that anger as surely as she could suffocate fire with water?

"You think I don't regret that, every day she doesn't wake up? You think I don't hate myself just as much as you all hate me? Don't you think I hate myself as much as you hate yourself?" She looked up and met his eyes, and he had an uncanny sense of déjà vu. He'd seen an identical pair of bright, clear green eyes this morning, rimmed with tears, bloodshot, and so, so, so angry, to the point where the anger and grief were one, fused together indefinitely. He'd seen those eyes in the mirror.

A part of him rebelled at the thought. He was not his mother. She had failed him as a role model months ago, and it would take more than a few tears to change that.

 _Who_ is _your role model, then?_ A small voice at the back of his head inquired. _Who do you think did the right thing? Your father?_ He flinched; even that little voice in his head spat it with bitterness. _Then again, you did run away to Germany as soon as it looked like things were getting rough. maybe you really are your father's son._

 _Shut up,_ he seethed right back. _Shut the hell up._

Thankfully, it obliged. The others had already been looking at him weirdly enough throughout their discussions and his subsequent reactions; he didn't need to be seen talking to himself.

He blinked, the fog clearing from his mind, and was brought back to hear Sebastian talking. He slid his gaze to his mother, whose face displayed unprecedented and unwarranted dislike as she beheld the speaker, and it stayed there.

"-we can leave discussions of morality for later, as I'm sure they will be extensive, and violent." The teen was saying. Jonathan's attention remained on Jocelyn, as her lip, curled in distaste, only curled further, until it was a sneer. "As for right now, we need-"

"Why are you looking at Sebastian like that?" Jon butted it, scowling at his mother. Her gaze snapped to his, and he saw the anger and hatred in them. A thrill shot through him as he stared back at her with the same amount of fury and loathing, and pitting those emotions against someone who actually deserved them for once felt _good_. "Does his speech not fit your standards?"

Jocelyn fired right back, "You're one to talk, Jonathan. You zoned out for the first half of it."

He snarled, but didn't deny it. "And I suppose you just happen to hate his guts as well as finding his words uninteresting?"

Jocelyn's eye narrowed significantly, until they were two strips of jade, her pupils two full stops highlighted by green pens. "Don't act innocent. You've been subtly glaring at him since I got here - and I'll guess since before I got here. But you're right," her gaze flicked back to Sebastian, "I don't like him."

Everyone had stopped their conversations now, and were just watching theirs without words. It gave Jon the oddest feeling of being on a stage. Sebastian raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything to defend himself. Funnily enough, it was Jace who demanded, "And why is that?"

Jocelyn's eyes flicked to Jace, and they seemed to (if it was even possible) narrow further. She bit out, "Because I may not know the full story, but he hurt her." The words were a jab, as she turned her eyes, like chips of ice, on him. "Even after everything they'd been through as friends, my early prediction from before they started dating proved true: He hurt her. And that's something I won't forgive him for.

"I never liked him to begin with; he just never struck me as trustworthy. And this only made it worse." She gave a small, bitter smile, that sent the slowly but surely smouldering embers in Jon's chest ablaze. "So there. That's my reason."

" _He_ hurt her?" Jon asked incredulously, but without entire control of his basic speaking talent. It was like the words rose to his throat, unbidden, but dearly wanted, and dearly painful to suppress, and he spoke them without censorship. " _He_ hurt her? Rich words coming from you." He jerked his head at Luke. "You promise to visit - the both of us - and of course you forget the moment someone shows the remotest interest in you. Are we all that insignificant to you?" He spat, and his rage roared over the cries of pain and hurt - because yes, that was hurt - inside him.

"If so, then I am done." He said. The rage was a clear song in his blood now, and he spoke with a low, vicious voice that betrayed the deadly, lethal calm he was riding. "I am done with you. Get out of this house, and never come back."

He didn't stay long enough to receive her response.

He stood up, purposefully and firmly, and the chair legs squealed as they scraped against the floor. He did not look to see if the chair toppled over with the force he'd shoved it with as he stalked out of the kitchen. He stormed up the stairs, the stairs groaning under his footsteps, then marched to his room.

He wen straight to that neatly pressed, neatly hung white shirt hanging on the handle of his wardrobe, and knocked it to the ground.

Then he curled up on his bed and sobbed.

* * *

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	15. Exhausted

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments. It belongs to Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

 **Exhausted**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVE_

When Jon had gotten a hold of his emotions enough to return downstairs, Jocelyn and Luke were gone. He took a moment to note that he hadn't heard the door close, but then he dismissed it as useless. He didn't care where or when they left, so long as they did.

No one commented when he slipped back into the kitchen, and retook his seat.

"So," Jon forcibly broke the silence and slapped the table. "What happened next?" He narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. "You - talk."

Sebastian didn't look fazed. "Alright. How about the time, about a month after they-" he nodded - with respect, though Jon was uncertain as to whether the respect was genuine or mocking - at the Lightwoods, "came to town."

* * *

I hadn't seen Clary in a while, so I decided to head round her house - your house, this house, whatever, stop interrupting- So I came round here to see if she wanted to go for a walk, or something. I don't know. We're all aware that I've never been a particularly creative thinker.

So I was just on the threshold here, and was getting ready to knock on the door. It was about June by now, and it was uncomfortably hot, and I was regretting choosing to wear dark-washed jeans and a jumper. I'm still not entirely sure why I chose them.

I knocked, and listened to the knock echo down the corridor. I wasn't expecting Mr. Morgenstern to open the door - and he didn't. I'm not sure where he was, but he'd never seemed to be round recently, like he spent every moment of free time away from home. I didn't think anything of it then; none of us did but. . . but perhaps we should have.

I didn't hear her footsteps as she came to answer the door, since she'd recently taken to wearing mainly bed socks and slippers round the house, so that paired with her - your - thick fluffy carpet do a pretty effective job of muting the noise.

So it came as a shock when the flap meant for putting post through flicked outward, and I was staring at a pair of bright green eyes.

Clary blinked at me, like she was in a sort of daze, then I grinned at her absently, running a hand through my hair. She disappeared from the letter slot and let the metal flap fall back into place with a clink. A moment later I heard the latches click out of place and she was swinging the door open. The left side of her mouth stretched up as she gave me a small half smile.

"Hey, Sebastian." Her voice was quiet.

I grinned at her, but my face fell at the circles under her eyes. "Are you alright?"

She immediately blinked and her hand came up to rub against her face. "Fine. Just fine. "She dropped her hand and tried for a wan smile. It didn't work. "What did you come over for?"

I didn't want to let it go that easily. "I just wanted to see if you were free, but be honest now, _are you okay_?"

Her lips pursed. "I'm _fine_." She snapped, and her voice was hard, cold, stinging, like an elastic band that had been stretched until it snapped. "Mind your own business."

"If you're upset it _is_ my business, Clary," I insisted, stepping forward so I towered over her. She suddenly looked so fragile in that moment: pasty skin, purple, sunken eyes, and bones so small and frail that they might break at the slightest pressure. I swallowed my sudden terror and continued, "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong!" She shouted at me, and tears welled up in her eyes and came spilling out and the force of it. An instant later, like that had taken all the energy she had, she. . . crumpled, shoulders caving in on herself, gripping her elbows tightly to keep upright. "Nothing's wrong."

I was terrified then. What had happened to _Clary_? What had happened to the fiery, wild spirited girl I'd grown up with, and kissed over and over? How had I not noticed sooner?

I took a deep breath, and I think that that fear may have snapped something in me, some restraint or barrier of denial, because suddenly bitter words and thoughts I couldn't remember thinking were pouring out of my mouth, in a cool, deadly voice that was so unlike my own. I watched as each word struck Clary like a hammer blow, but I couldn't bring myself to stop, or to take them back. It just felt so _good_ venting everything I hadn't realised had been accumulating for so long.

"So you'll cosy up with Jace Wayland, and cry on his shoulder, but you won't talk to me?" I exploded. "How long has it been since we went out together, Clary? How long has it been since we talked? How long has it been since you _looked_ at me?" My tone lowered into hurt. "You've been spending so much time with him recently; are you trying to tell me something?"

She was blinking in disbelief - shock. And when she spoke, her voice was horrified, "Who _are_ you? This isn't the Sebastian I know."

"How would you know that?" I remarked bitterly. "Considering you've barely spoken to me recently."

Something in her face softened, but her voice was hard as she said, "Get out. Get out of my house." I didn't move. " _Get out!_ "

I sneered, and said, "Can't handle the truth?"

I didn't give her a chance to answer before I was striding out of the house, and slamming the door behind me.

* * *

Jon had gone very, very still.

Over the roaring in his head, he was vaguely aware of Simon and Jace grilling Sebastian with questions that sounded more like accusations, but everything was dull, muted.

But his focus was razor sharp as he asked, very, very quietly, "Did you ever try to make it up with her?"

Sensing that the wrong answer here could make things go very badly indeed, Sebastian hesitated before admitting, "I did. . . I went back to apologise, and to find out was what genuinely bugging her. But she seemed even more out of it than before, and when I met Jace exiting her house, it sparked another argument between us, then never went resolved. I think he might have said something to her that really threw her off."

Jon's head swivelled to look at Jace, whose gaze was suddenly focused on his hands folded in front of him. But Jon didn't miss the annoyed look he shot Sebastian's way at being sold out.

"What did you say."

The question went ignored.

" _What did you say."_

Finally, Jace said, voice a hoarse whisper, "I told her I loved her."


	16. Resentful

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

 **Thanks for all your reviews!**

* * *

 **Resentful**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER_

"Were you out of your mind?" Jon asked at the same moment as Sebastian said, "You did _what_?"

Jace had an expression that distinctly resembled a deer caught in the headlights. He mumbled something indiscernible and by the way his shoulders hunched forward, he seemed to fold inward, like a snail curling into its shell. From the safety of his imagined cage he glared at them, golden eyes like two laser beams swivelling about the table. Jon was distinctly reminded of the disposition of a cornered mouse, knowing there's no hope but ready to fight to the death anyway.

He said, very, very quietly, "Because I couldn't lie to her for any longer."

There was still a generous amount of fear in his voice.

It made Jon wonder why he'd said it, if he was so afraid of their reactions.

Because he was afraid, Jon was starting to realise. For an instant, he looked at the anger and defensiveness in the blonde's eyes, and saw through to the core of him with the same clarity that Jace had seen through to him in his bedroom; only a few days ago, but with a decade's worth of emotional experience in between.

Jace _was_ frightened. He was absolutely terrified. He was terrified that he'd messed up, and contributed to the potential death of the girl he loved with his overwhelming need to tell her the truth. He was terrified he'd taken something pure and wholly good, and used it to hurt the last person he'd want to hurt. His harsh remarks, his hatred - it was simply borne of that fear. That fear, and the knowledge that whilst what happened might be partially his fault, it was also other people's.

And it hit Jon so unquestionably in that moment: that perhaps Jace wasn't the only one who was afraid.

He glanced round the table, and the first person his gaze settled on was Simon. Simon. The boy with the olive skin and the large, thick-lensed glasses who had always been there, a part of Clary's life, a part of _Jon's_ life, for as long as he could remember. The boy who tripped over his own feet, who always wore t-shirts with faded sarcastic comments on, who had once looked at Clary like she hung the moon, and once he realised the futility of his feelings had had the maturity to move on, and now looked at her like someone he could trust with his mind and soul.

How was he faring? He'd suffered the loss of his best friend, and had had to walk around for weeks knowing that he might never speak to her again. What terrible thing had he said and done that crushed him with so much guilt? On the whole, he had remained silent during the debates, until he felt the need to rip out someone's throat for something they said. He hadn't shared a story yet; why? Had he not noticed anything wrong over the months? Or had he just been distracted?

Jon's gaze passed onto Maia. The flamethrower to his sister's spitfire, Maia and Clary had met at age eleven and found that whilst Simon sat in the corner with his nose in one of his comics, they each had the attitude to rival the other, and became fast friends because of it. As far as Jon knew, Maia and Simon had hated each other to begin with, but that hate had dissolved into something else for a brief interlude after Simon had let go of his feelings for Clary and became interested in Maia. Jon wasn't sure how it had ended, but he knew three things: Maia was now happy with her boyfriend Jordan, Simon kept making googly eyes at Isabelle, and it was absolutely none of Jon's business anyway.

In summary, Maia had been the thorn to Clary's rose for a while, and had since made anyone who thought they could mess with either of them bleed.

But where was that famed defensiveness now? Like Simon, Maia had interjected only to snarl and snap at people, retreating to the feral, harsh side of her she showed whenever she felt threatened. But the person Jon remembered was a bubbly, colourful girl, with a beaming smile and a badass disposition. Whatever had happened had shaken her so badly she'd debased herself until a primal side to her was permanently on display. Was this her form of coping? Cutting down anything and anyone who seemed to be responsible for her loss? Even if it made sense that the one thing Maia Roberts would be out for was revenge, Jon would have thought she'd want to help with the effort of helping Clary out of the pit she'd fallen into. Some things didn't add up.

His gaze skipped over the Lightwoods - the only one he could remotely understand was Jace, anyway; he didn't know them - and onto Magnus, whose hand was gripping Alec's.

Magnus. Jon had never been quite sure whether Magnus was Clary's friend, or his friend, but the sparkly boy had been a part of their lives just as surely as Simon or Maia had. Always cheerful, Magnus also had a knack of being remarkably tact in knowing what to said, or when no words were needed. He liked being the centre of attention, and he could always make them laugh; he just seemed to be this whirlwind of glitter that went flying about, randomly interspersing their day to day lives with brightness.

He had been one of the most vocal these past few days. Was that because he knew he had to shoulder the burdens of the others?

When Jon's gaze fixated onto Sebastian, he found the dark haired boy looking back.

Sebastian had come into the picture a little later. When Clary was fifteen, and Jon six months older, one and a half years ago, he'd moved to their school from France, and Clary, who'd been taking French as of that time, was assigned to lead him around and acquaint himself with the place. Being the kind hearted soul she was, she'd gone a step further and invited him to hang out with them, and they'd become fast friends. The two had started dating perhaps a month before Jocelyn had left.

Jon, however, had never quite clicked with Sebastian. It had never really bothered him until he realised how little he knew about the guy, and how he genuinely didn't know how he was coping.

Perhaps because he wasn't.

Sebastian held his gaze, and asked hoarsely, "What do you think of this?"

What _did_ he think of this?

Without answering, Jon turned to Jace and asked, "How?"

Jace shook his head and swallowed, relaxing out of the defensive stance he'd held. "I don't know, honestly. I just fell in love with her. It's not something you can control."

Jon nodded, then glanced at Sebastian, before looking back at Jace. "So you never-"

" _No!_ " Jace said harshly. "I would _never_ have seduced Clary into cheating on Sebastian. Or even tried." He swallowed again, though; a quick bob of the throat.

Jon cast Sebastian another glance, who clarified, "I broke up with her shortly after."

"Why?"

Jace breathed a chuckle, but there was no humour in it. "I was there, actually." He admitted. "It was. . ." He trailed off, acutely aware of the glare Sebastian shot him as he searched for a word. "Explosive," he said finally. "She didn't react well; not to the love confession, not to the break up."

"Tell me everything."

And so Sebastian did.


	17. Betrayed

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially crazyweirdladycatnip for your wonderful reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Betrayed**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER B_

I was done.

There isn't much to tell, other than that. And I think, a part of me is absolutely sure, that Clary was done too. That was why she let it go so easily. We all know Clary, and we all know that even in her darkest hour, she can be the most stubborn creature alive. She wouldn't have let it go down without a fight, if she'd cared.

I had a peculiar sense of foreshadowing, staring at the window and watching the unseasonal raindrops slide down it. It was dark enough outside that I could see my reflection in it, and I'm not sure if it was just the harsh lighting, or the contrast, but I remember thinking I looked eerily pale. I watched my reflection, no more than a smudge of black and white and grey, out of the corner of my eye as I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and scrolled down to Clary's contact.

I know it was cowardly of me to do it over the phone, and not in person. I know. You don't need to tell me.

I held the phone away from me, like a venomous spider, even as the first ring was jarring against the stillness of the room. It kept an uneven beat with the rain on the glass as it rung once. Twice. Thrice.

Clary's tentative, "Hello?" through the phone led to me taking another shuddering breath.

"Hi. Clary." I said, bringing it to my ear and turning away from my reflection like it was watching me. Judging me. I didn't let the silence stretch into awkwardness as I cut straight to the point. "I think we need to break up."

Her breath snagged, but I ignored it as she said in a tone too smooth to be innocent, "Is this about my alleged 'cheating'? Because I know you didn't genuinely believe that, Sebastian. You're not that stupid."

"What am I supposed to believe?" I asked her, a little bitterly.

"You could trust me," she said back, but I thought I detected a quiver in her voice.

I rushed on. "And no, it's not about them. It's just that I both think we're going through a little too much right now to be in a stable relationship, and I've begun to suspect that my feelings for you are strictly platonic. I'm sorry."

I think the words might have come out as slightly clipped and formal, but she knew me. That was how I got when I was nervous.

Thankfully, she didn't question it. "Alright." A part of me wished I hadn't phoned her, so I could see her face, as her voice wasn't exactly forthcoming about her emotions, but a much larger part of me wished that I would never know what she was feeling. I got the sense it would hurt either way. "Stay friends?" Her voice was beginning to crumble, and my heart started beating faster.

"Yes," I quickly assured her. "I'd like that." And then I hung up.

I stared out of the window for an indefinite amount of time, and couldn't get rid of the sense that I might have made Clary cry.

* * *

Simon, who Jon had noticed had seemed _very_ engaged in the story being told, sank back with a small sigh. "Well, that was anticlimactic."

Sebastian glared at him, black eyes glistening like slimy olives. "Well, I'm sorry it wasn't anymore destructive than it already was," he snapped. Sebastian's opinion seemed to be a popular one, as even Maia turned her dagger glare on the bespectacled boy.

Simon held up his hands, a look of shock gracing his face suddenly, like he'd realised what he'd just said. "I didn't mean it like that," he said hurriedly. "It's just that - you said that this was about a month after the Lightwoods came? Right - Clary called me directly afterwards, and she was in hysterics."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Sebastian swallow harshly.

"Tell us," Jon ordered the younger boy, and with a sideways glance, he obeyed.

* * *

Well, as Sebastian said, it was raining. Hard. Like, my mum was looking out of the window worrying about her garden hard.

So I was all for curling up in bed and reading, or something like that. Just a nice quiet activity to end a quiet, lazy day that mainly consisted of waddling around the house in pyjamas on those rare weekends.

So when my phone started ringing, I ignored it at first. It was an annoying buzz for a few minutes before it eventually went to voicemail, and I relaxed when it stopped, sinking further into the sheets and pushing my glasses up the ridge of my nose.

Then the ringing sound cut through the room again, and I jumped and banged my head on the headboard of the bed. Even the shrills rings seemed closer together, faster, sharper than before, like they were riding increasing terror and urgency. I scrambled for the phone, one hand clutching my head, but by the time I was there and had grabbed it, the ringing ceased.

I just stared at my phone. And as I watched, it started for a third time. I hastened to answer.

I can't remember what, exactly was said; I couldn't tell you whether she could have taken my words as encouraging or as even more damning than the words she'd already heard. But I can tell you that the tone of voice she used was so high and terrified it sliced through my already throbbing head like a knife through mashed potato, and that I got the gist of what had happened: Sebastian had broken up with her, and everything was falling apart.

I wasn't entirely sure what she was saying about the latter point, but she _had_ seemed down recently, so when her cries faded to mere murmurings, I just kept sending reassurances down the phone. I don't know if she heard or not, and I don't think she understood even if she did, but I do know one thing.

It hit me just after she'd hung up.

Her murmurings had just been one phrase, repeated over and over and over and over and over until it was unintelligible from gibberish.

 _"Please don't leave me."_

I saw her once the weekend ended, and we were back at school, but I didn't confront her about it, and she never contributed an explanation.


	18. Enraged

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Enraged**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE_

When Simon had finished talking, Sebastian was looking at him oddly. Jon couldn't discern what was in that look: whilst it held no malice, it wasn't exactly benign, either.

Sebastian placed his hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. He met Simon's eye as he said hoarsely, "She didn't respond to you in school the next day?"

Simon shook his head. Sebastian turned white.

"That was my fault as well," he said, so quietly Jon almost didn't catch it. "I tried to approach her before school, but she ran away. I caught up with her at lunch, and long story short she shot at me that if I broke up with her then I had no business trying to talk to her, despite us agreeing to still remain friends. She just kept hissing and spitting at me until I let go of her, and she ran off." He shook his head. "It was so. . . different, to how she'd reacted before."

"People are entitled to change their minds," Magnus observed apathetically. Sebastian tossed him a withering look.

Jon however, was thinking. And when Sebastian finally looked up to meet his gaze, his dark brows creased at the contemplation there.

"Come with me," Jon said, standing from his chair.

Sebastian frowned, but followed after him as they walked down the corridor.

* * *

Where they were going only appeared to hit Sebastian as they turned the street corner away from their destination, and it loomed above them, grey and blank and empty.

"The hospital," Sebastian commented softly. "You're visiting Clary." He gave Jon a quick side glance, suspicion written into his face. "Why bring me though?"

Jon pulled into the parking space, and slumped back against the car seat. "Because you haven't visited her yet, from what I've heard at least, and considering you've known her just as long as any of those other idiots back there, that's just unacceptable. She's your friend too; regardless of whatever petty arguments you've had." A smile quirked the edges of his lips. "Besides, I think that _this_ ," he waved a hand round at the car, the hospital, at the girl unconscious inside, "puts it all into perspective."

"I guess you're right." Sebastian said slowly, eyes still riveted to the dashboard.

Sensing no further arguments, Jon opened the car door and slammed it shut behind him, the slam of Sebastian's car door its echo. Jon stood there for a moment in the sweltering Spring-into-Summer heat, observing the way the dark grey brick of the building cast such thick, dense shadows and absorbed the light. Then he marched towards it after locking the car, not looking back to see if Sebastian was following.

Jon breezed past the reception, and quickly found himself in Clary's room. It was as still and as white as ever, with her splash of hair as always the only colour livening it up, like blood on snow.

He winced at the thought, suddenly unable to get the image out of his head.

He turned to see Sebastian frozen in the doorway his face a painful blend of hesitance and desperacy.

"You can come in, you know," Jon quipped absently. It came out with a flippancy he didn't really feel, that flopped like a dead fish in the frigid, solemn air, before sinking like a stone. "I don't bite. And neither does she," he added, "Not that she could, in this state." His words fell flat and insensitive again. He winced.

Sebastian reluctantly dragged himself forward, like someone was jerking a string. He fell into the other chair, on the other side of the bed, with a gracelessness Jon had never realised the other boy possessed. Perhaps because he was only showing it now. Then again, Jon had never seen him run.

The muscles in Sebastian's face drooped as though they were the heads of dying bluebells, or he didn't have the energy to remain upright. His stature was as bowed as a bow, and the way he rested his forehead on the heels of his hands, elbows resting on his knees, gave Jon the distinct impression of a knight bowing to his monarch.

He jerked his head up so suddenly Jon had to blink to pretend he hadn't been staring. There was anguish in his face for an instant; he passed his hand in front of his face and it was gone.

The boy's voice was ghost-quiet as he said, "Why did you really bring me here?"

Jon didn't know where the words were coming from as he said, "So I didn't hate you," but he knew they were true. Felt it in every fibre of his being: he had been on the cusp of hating him.

Sebastian released a mirthless, breathless laugh. "I'm sorry I'm such a hateable person," he said, and there was dryness to his voice, and anger, so much anger. . . "But I fail to see how this helps. I fail to see how confronting me with the sight of the girl who's been my best friend for years in a coma could help _your_ pain. I fail to see _why_." He breath guttered slightly, like a dying candle as it hit him.

"It was to see _my_ pain, wasn't it? To assure yourself of it."

The silence dropped like a pin.

Sebastian's voice was as soft as the darkness in it. "Well, I hope that seeing my pain over the potential death of my best friend might endear me to you. I hope you're satisfied."

Jon felt his boiling temper begin to rise; he clamped down on it. Hard.

Sebastian noticed though, and laughed again. "See? There you are, getting angrier and angrier at me. Come on. End it." He stood up, and came round to face Jon head on. "Punch me."

Jon was so shocked he gave out a startled guffaw. "What?"

"Punch me." Sebastian said, and there was no dark anger now, just plain, straight fact. "Punch me. It'll help." He gave a shadow of his crooked grin. "Both me and you."

There was a coil in his chest, holding his fists in, even as his fingers flexed, even as they clenched and unclenched.

The coil sprang loose.

His fist collided with Sebastian's jaw and he felt pain blossom in his knuckles before he saw red.

A drop of blood rolled down Sebastian's chin and hit the white fluffy carpet, garish in colour. The black haired boy looked at him with a savage glee in his eyes, even as a dark purple bruise coated his jaw, and his lip split from where it'd been struck.

"Better"? He panted, with a grin that was more than a little terrifying.

"Better."


	19. Faithless

**Is anyone still reading? If you are, I hope you like this chapter...**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Faithless**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE F_

When they got back, Isabelle raised one thin eyebrow at the blood now dried on Sebastian's face but Jon clipped out, "We went to the hospital," and all questions were silenced. Jace wore a grim smile, which Jon, to the evident surprise of everyone present, returned.

Sebastian had been right. He had felt better after that.

He hadn't realised quite how strong his overwhelming urge to punch something had been.

Not even that little heart to heart talk he'd had with Jace had helped quite as much.

The wood of his seat was cool as he slid onto it, and he faced the others with a smile - still forced, but that knowledge didn't weigh him down quite like before.

His angst and anger would not help Clary. Nor would punching Sebastian, but it helped him and Sebastian, and that was all he wanted: to be helpful. Save someone.

He just hadn't thought it counted if that person was himself.

So he adopted a vaguely cheery air as he asked, "Are there any other moments anything seemed amiss? Perhaps she missed a lesson, was acting strange. . .?"

Jace swallowed, and Jon cut him a sideways glance. But Jace seemed to pick up on the fact that today, Jon wouldn't push him.

"I suppose if you're not going to force Jace to divulge what the _heck_ went down in that explosive argument they had," Maia commented dryly, inspected her nails. She curled her fingers like claws. "I suppose it's Isabelle's turn to tell." Her amber eyes glittered. "After all, she was there at the end."

A chill crept over him at the phrase _the end_ , like it was a game, a tragic novel, nothing but an angst fanfiction written for amusement. Like the ending was already set in stone, written out in full, the final move of a chess match done, and the winner saying _"checkmate"._

Like it was finished, and with the words that came below the last sentence of every fairy tale, came the certainty that nothing was ever going to change. That the _Happily Ever After_ couldn't be taken back, no matter what had been sacrificed to achieve it. To keep it.

He sternly told himself to cut the dramatics, and instead leaned forwards towards where the taller, raven haired girl fidgeted in her seat. This was the most nervous he'd ever seen her, he observed, even as she flicked her eyes down to her finger to trace the whorls and swirls in the wood of the table.

"I'm listening," he uttered, the words an extended hand for her to dance. An invitation for her to begin.

Isabelle took a breath, and began.

* * *

Clary was round at Simon's; I knew that much when I stopped by to drop off the homework the teacher had told me to pass onto Simon, because he was at a guitar lesson or something along those lines.

I'd known she was there; I'd known I'd have to face her. I'd known that I was absolutely, completely and utterly furious at her, her and her disgusting actions in breaking my brother's heart.

I'm not going to deny that I'm as curious as everyone else here as to what happened between them. I was half hoping he'd explain it, give the word by word rundown we've all given for everything else here, no matter how much it would hurt him to repeat it. I'm selfish like that. But even if I don't know exactly what happened, he state he was in when he came home after it happened was enough to light the fire in my chest.

So when Simon opened the door on the third doorbell ring, and invited me through to sit on the sofa next to Clary, I couldn't keep it contained.

The moment I was perched on the cushion, I sneered at her, "Happy now?"

She had the gall to look baffled, which only pissed me off more. What _especially_ had me raving was just how _innocent_ she looked in that moment, pretty red hair falling in a nonsensical, soft wave, pretty delicate cheekbones and nose as slender as the handles and spouts on china tea sets, pretty pretty porcelain skin dusted with freckles like a fairy had come along to gently sprinkle golden fairy dust over her paper skin.

It was the match to the tinder.

"Are you happy?!" I said again, voice as hard and brittle as dry twigs. As flammable, too. It'd only been a few days since the incident, and my voice broke as I recounted, "Are you happy now that you've broken his heart and smashed the pieces to shreds? Are you happy, now you've gone and _destroyed_ him?"

"Isabelle." Simon admonished sharply, showing a good deal more backbone than I'd seen in him before.

That didn't stop me from ignoring him. _"Are you happy?"_ I asked again. I was screaming now, screaming and crying. Twin tears tracked down her own cheeks. "Why, _Clarissa_? Why did you feel the need to do that to him? Why did you hurt him, when all he ever did was love you?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about," she stuttered out, but her breathing hitched, betraying her fear. I took savage pleasure in it.

"Don't give me that shit. Don't you try to justify your actions _when you made him fall apart_." I grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked it, wanting nothing more than to shatter that pretty, pretty face of hers. "He came into the house, _crying_ , because of what you did. He hasn't cried in years." I released my hair, and jerked back in disgust when she reached for me, her mouth opening and closing haplessly. "You selfish _bitch_!

"Wasn't it enough that you ruin everyone's lives you touch?" I asked softly - venomously. I'd noticed that this seemed to be a sore point with her, and in my vicious delight, I capitalised on it. "Isn't it enough you're nothing but a burden, a waste of space, who can't get over a little tragedy in her family? Did you really have to turn your self destructive tendencies on the world?" I spat on her. "You make me sick."

Her shoulders were trembling. _She_ was trembling, taking great shuddering gasps, her breath coming out ragged. Yet not a tear fell. It was like I'd cut her too deep - so deep that the pain is too excruciating to even cry, and all you can do is scream and scream and scream. . .

"Clary." Simon's voice cut through the edged silence, with a sense of urgency I didn't quite compute in my senseless rage. " _Clary_."

She looked up, but she didn't meet his eye, even when he catapulted himself out of his seat and grabbed her hand. She shook him off, stood, and strode out of the door. It slammed behind her, jarring in the deathly silent room.

The next time I saw her, she was in hospital.


	20. Overwhelmed

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Overwhelmed**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE FO_

Once Isabelle had finished her story, a deathly silence fell, just as potent as the one she'd described in her recount.

Jon said quietly, "What actually happened to put her there?"

It was Maia who answered. "We told you. She was in a car crash. I don't know if she just wasn't in her right state of mind, or she was crying too hard to _see_ anything, but she careened into a ditch at the side of the road. Simon ran after her after she stormed out, and found her there, and called the ambulance. She had emergency surgery, which Valentine was present for before he left, and were told that she might wake up any day, might not. She's been in a coma on life support ever since."

Magnus's voice was cool and controlled in a way that was very un-Magnus-like as he said, "Well, that was quite a passionate rant you went on, Isabelle. Care to explain where that came from?" His voice was more than a little passive aggressive, and Jon was faintly surprised, though he knew he shouldn't be - Magnus has always been the cheeriest of all of them, but Angel help the one who insulted the people he cared about. Alec's face was tight as his hand crept towards Magnus's splayed fist; he glanced from his sister to his boyfriend uncertainly.

The words, however, resonated in the silence, and were as heavy as anvils in the absence of the curling joy Magnus usually wrapped round his sentences.

Isabelle's face burned an ugly shade of red Jon was unfamiliar with as she clenched her fists on the cool wood of the table, but she cast her eyes down. "I just wanted to protect my brother," she said bitterly, though as she played with her thumbs, Jon wasn't sure which part she was bitter about. "Is it a crime now, to look out for your family? Regardless of the consequences?"

Magnus swallowed tightly, but the harsh lines in his too-young face softened significantly. "No, but it's generally smiled upon to take a bit more care whilst doing it, and perhaps not saying every damn thing that comes into your mind, in order to avoid potentially disastrous consequences." Each word came out more and more clipped, until his speech pattern sounded like the clack of heels against a marble floor.

"I'm sorry, okay!" Isabelle snapped out suddenly. She was still staring at her hands, even as she flexed them, wiggled her fingers, tugged and pinched her thumb. "I'm sorry! It was a mistake, and I readily admit that, but I'm not the only one at fault here!"

The strength and audacity with which she said the last few words sent shockwaves round the table. She clenched her eyes shut, pinched the bridge of her nose, and took a long deep inhale.

"I know, we're all beating ourselves up because of what happened to Clary, and rightly so! We messed up. But she did too. If we all agree that we're all at fault, then she is too. She just happened to be the one who suffered the consequences, and thus is exempt from the blame.

"What happened, was that amongst all the shit that was happening beneath our noses, that we did and we didn't see, we all failed to be there for each other. And before you tell me I sound like someone out of _High School Musical_ let me continue. _We didn't know what to do_. None of us did. And because we were faced with a problem we didn't know how to fix, that made us all uncomfortable and instead of even _trying_ to fix it, we ignored it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? We all acted like idiots. All of us. Every. Single. One. Because we didn't _see_.

"I accept my role in pushing Clary over the edge and pushing her to do whatever reckless act destroyed her. I accept her role as well. I'm not saying it's my fault or her fault; I'm saying it's no one's fault."

The girl's voice had been admirably strong up until now, but then it broke, and a glossy tear slid down her cheek as she hiccupped. Her eyelashes clung together, like the thick spines of a sea urchin. "So can you all stop acting like you're the only ones hurting, and blaming it on everyone else, and _grow up_. It happened. There's nothing we can do to change it. I don't even know what the point of these talks were." She wiped her cheek. "Because they're not helping. Not unless we accept the mistakes we _all_ made, and use it to be better people if the world deigns to give us all a second chance. Even Clary."

A silence fell, and then Jace whistled with the sort of jovial laughter that had to be forced. "Wow, little sis," he quipped, and reached over to ruffle her hair. "Who would've known you'd be able to come up with such a heartrending speech off the top of your head like that?"

Isabelle scowled at him, dark eyes still bright.

Jon glanced outside to where the sun was beginning to slip downwards, like a falling glowing ember. The sky was already a grey-violet colour - mauve, he remembered it was called.

"You lot should probably head home. The sun's going down."

Simon looked up at that; his gaze had been fixed to the table. "Sure." He said, rising from his seat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Jon nodded, and opened his mouth to reply, when a shrill ringing cut through the air. Jon frowned; who would be calling the landline? It was a bit late for well-wishers.

Jace acted faster than Jon, and had hooked the phone off the stand in a blink and was speaker into the receiver. "No. . . This is Jace Wayland. He's gone." A pause. "He's not coming back, we don't think." Another pause. "There's Jonathan Morgenstern, just over here. Give me a second." He held the phone away from his ear and held it out to Jon. "It's for you."

The boy in question took it tentatively, like it was a poisonous spider, and spoke into it almost shyly, "Hello? Jonathan Morgenstern speaking."

The voice at the other end was female, and vaguely familiar. "This is Catarina Loss, from the hospital. You remember me? We spoke about Clarissa's condition a few days ago."

Jon's brow furrowed. "Yes - is everything alright?"

"More than alright." Even from here, Jon could here the smile on Catarina's face. "Your sister's awake."


	21. Replenished

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Replenished**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE FOR_

Everything was disconcertingly, painfully, blindingly white.

When Clary felt herself drifting back into consciousness, she could see all the blood vessels in her eyelids from how bright it was. And when she stirred, her fingers twitching, she opened her right eye a crack.

And then proceeded to shut it immediately.

There was an intolerable stiffness in her back and legs, and a steady ache to the left of her ribs. Her left leg felt like it'd been filled with lead when she tried to move it, and she got perhaps a millimetre off the mattress before she dropped it back with a thud and a barely audible groan.

Her head was stuffed with cotton wool, and trying to think a coherent thought was like trying to paddle the most cumbersome boat ever invented upstream in a river of custard.

Idly she wondered why she could think up such a detailed simile in such a state, but she waved it off to face the most important question:

 _Where was she?_

The last thing she remembered was. . . was. . . Isabelle screaming, the thud of the door as she ran out, then a blur of black and silver as tears stung her eyes and she stumbled into the dusk light.

Clary winced, and almost reflexively curled into a ball under the flimsy sheets.

Right.

Very slowly, after waiting a few minutes for her cognitive functions to redevelop to a usable extent, she reached over to prod her left side with her right hand, finding her left arm to be unresponsive. She hissed through her gritted teeth at the bolt of pain that shot through her ribs like beads on an abacus. She chanced a peak down, smothering a whimper at the stiffness in her neck, and looked down.

She wore soft white cotton pyjamas, but they were ever so slightly too small for her, and exposed a section of her midriff. She cringed at the skin it exposed on her left side; it was black and purple and brown and yellow and every other colour under the sun she was pretty sure it was not supposed to be. The sight of such a messy masterpiece after her eyes had adjusted to the abnormally white room was positively painful. She scrunched her eyes shut as her head spun.

Second order of business, after poking her potentially serious injuries: _Figure out where you are_.

Her brain still moved sluggishly but she dragged her eyes round the room. There were white walls, two pale grey chairs like icebergs marooned on either side of the bed she lay in. It was a large bed, similar to that in a hotel, with crisp thin sheets and pillows. A faint beeping permeated her ears, and she twisted her neck too fast to her left to see the large machine she couldn't remember the name of that you always saw in hospitals standing next to the bed. She studied the flashing little coloured lights dotted all over it before her eyes trailed down one of the many wires to where it was embedded in her arm.

She screamed.

She knew it was stupid of her, but she'd had quite a shock, and whatever the reason behind her sudden slap of terror, it brought a nurse running.

A woman Clary didn't recognise stepped into the room. She had scraggly white blonde hair pulled behind her in a harsh bun, and her blue eyes were sharp and stern, but she surveyed Clary with a frankness the girl found almost reassuring. "Clarissa? You're awake."

Swallowing her sarcasm, that _no, she was just sleep talking_ , she nodded. "Yeah." Her throat was hoarse with disuse, and the sound that came out was similar to that of a heavily scratched record being played. "Yeah, I'm up." She went to sit up further, and flinched when a twinge of pain rippled from her arm.

"Do be careful, Clarissa," the woman tutted. "You were in a car crash. You're in hospital. Try to take it easy on yourself." A pause then, "I'm Nurse Catarina, by the way. I've been checking in with you whilst you were unconscious."

 _Unconscious?_ "What-" She swallowed, then said. "What happened? How long was I out?"

The woman's lips flattened into a sympathetic smile. "A while. Your brother's been in to see you, and so have some of your friends."

Clary was just getting more and more confused. Jon was in a other country. . . wasn't he? "What-" She began, but Catarina cut her off.

"Would you like me to call him and explain that you're awake?"

Clary was nodding before she made a conscious decision to nod. "Yes." She heard herself say. "That would be helpful."

* * *

After Catarina left, Clary drifted back into what seemed like a sticky, oceanic trench of sleep. Even the sound of the door slamming hard enough to rattle the hinges in the perpetrator's eagerness to get through didn't totally shake off the sludgy sheen that'd coated her senses like a second skin.

She opened her eyes and squinted against the light before, but then a shadow passed in front of her and she had more important things to worry about as she felt her torso and upper body yanked into a smothering embrace than had her hacking and grunting as she tried to escape.

Finally, she recognised the body shape of the person hugging her and went limp with shock. "Jon?"

Her brother leaned back and grinned at her. Behind him, she could hear voices seeping through from outside, but she zoned them out and focused on her brother, right here, right now. "Why aren't you in Germany?"

"I came back," he said as if it were obvious. "I came back two weeks ago. Only to find out you'd gotten yourself into quite a mess." And then, like he couldn't quite believe she was alive, he hugged her again.

And despite her bruised and battered body, she hugged him back.

"I thought you were going to die. . ." He whispered, and as she thought he'd been more saying it to himself than to her, she remained silent.

They pulled back at last, and she demanded, "Tell me everything."

He summarised everything that had happened since he'd come back, how worried everyone had been, and she nodded along as she tried not to look like her head was spinning with the overload of information. Then Jon grinned with a genuine joy she hadn't seen since their mum left, and ruffled her hair, before moving to leave.

"Where're you going?" She said, suddenly panicked. The sheets were clenched between her fists.

He chuckled to himself. "I'm not going anywhere; I just figured you'd want a moment alone with some of the people waiting outside for you. Who did you want me to send in?"

Her throat closed up as her mind flicked to the one person she needed closure with, and she croaked, "Did you say Sebastian was here?"

Jon's face was respectfully solemn as he nodded. "I'll send him in."

He shut the door softly, but the sound was still as powerful as cannon fire in the deathly still room.


	22. Empowered

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own The Mortal Instruments. All rights to the characters and at references were created by Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

 **Empowered**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE FORE_

In the few minutes that the silence dragged on, Clary's nervous hands twisted the white sheets into the visage of snowy mountains, bedecked in fluffy white clouds.

She ground her teeth, and that and the rustling of her fidgeting right legs against cotton was the only sound as she felt time stretch like an elastic band.

Finally, she heard footsteps outside. Excruciatingly slow and heavy ones that paused just outside the door. She had counted to sixty by the time the door creaked open and she opened her eyes again to see Sebastian just standing on the threshold, his lips pursed and brows furrowed as he warred with himself on whether or not to come in. He stepped through and gave a hesitant smile when he finally met her eye.

The door swung shut behind him and he jumped at the sudden sound. She had the urge to smile, and the same urge to hide it, but she settled on a grimace.

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the carpeted floor and started to tap his left foot, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. Clary gritted her teeth at the headache that was borne of a combination of the irritating sound and the words unspoken. The air was thick with them.

He dropped his hand back to his side and sighed. "You're awake." He said lamely. "That's good. We were all worried."

"'We'?" She asked, tilting her head. Her hair flopped over her shoulder like a dying fish, and she lifted her right hand - the one that didn't hurt - to finger it. Someone had plaited it whilst she was asleep into a single long braid, no doubt in an attempt to calm the riotous curls. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "Who's 'we'?"

He swallowed, and shifted on his feet again. Clary had read in books that when the protagonist was faced with someone as nervous as this, they felt vaguely empowered. She didn't feel like that now, and had no idea where she was getting the words from; she was just as mortified as him at this conversation, despite being the one to initiate it. It had to be done, and putting it off would only make it harder in the end.

Sebastian seemed to come to the same resolution as her, as he squared his shoulders like she was some sort of dragon to be fought off, and came to sit in the chair next to her.

"'We' as in Jace, Jon, Isabelle, Simon, Alec, Maia, and Magnus." He said plainly. His answer didn't help, as more questions only crowded her brain.

"I thought you hated Jace" she said slowly, trying to work through the fogginess in her head. It hit her then with clarity: that she should save it for later, that she should wait until she was out of the hospital, she was in a _hospital_ for goodness sake, she didn't need to have this conversation now, it could jeopardise her recovery.

But sometime in the future she was proud of herself, of how she took a deep breath, and let her thoughts realign, as though she'd physically blown them back into place.

Sebastian looked nervous, and fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he said, "I did. Still do. But he _was_ worried about you."

The breath didn't help. She felt tempted to cradle her head as a steady, constant throbbing ache began to pound inside her skull. Her breathing turned ragged for a second, before she forced herself to calm down.

She shook her head against the onslaught of information. "Okay. Okay. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

His face was unreadable.

"About. . . us." She said hesitantly. "I fucked up."

"I did as well," He began to argue. "We both did."

"Yes. I know. And I think that a large part of the blame rests on my shoulders, for not being communicative enough. And I know that when we broke up we both thought we just needed space but. . . it's not going to work out. It's never going to work out. And I think it's time we accept that."

She let her head duck a little, but her gaze was still fixed to his. "I'd rather end it now, on equal terms, and remain the friends we were before, instead of letting it go out with a bang, and potentially destroying any chance of friendship between us." She glanced down then, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Or, camaraderie at least."

He nodded, and those might have been tears gleaming in his eyes as he smiled at her. It somehow only made the smile more brilliant; a representing of genuine joy and relief so profound it brought on the waterworks.

He stopped fidgeting, and let his shoulders fall back into their normal easy gait. "Well then," he said, with a voice that was remotely more cheerful than his previous one. "As your friend, I'll take it as my duty to inform you that there are a significant amount of other people outside waiting to talk to you, so I'll just go." He stepped towards her, and made like he was going to shake her hand. misreading his intent, she held out her arms.

He hesitated and hugged her. He kissed her cheek with the sort of brotherly love Jon did it with. "Get well soon, Clare," he said flippantly as he walked out, a spring in his step that wasn't there before.

She smiled to herself once the door was shut.


	23. Valued

**IMPORTANT NOTE.**

 **Please do not kill me after this chapter. There _will_ be Clace in this story, but this had to be done in this chapter. It was a necessary evil. So just hold out, and it will come.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments. They belong to Cassandra Clare. I'm merely putting them through hell for my own and others' amusement.**

* * *

 **Valued**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE FOREV_

In all honesty, Clary already knew who Sebastian would send in to see her first.

However, that didn't mean she was all too happy about having to conduct two heart to heart, self deprecating conversations back to back.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned back against the bed. The scratch on her left arm itched, but Clary fought the urge to scratch it; the nurse had taken out the IV earlier whilst she was asleep, or so she'd been told, but she didn't particularly want to break through the scab and sleep in sheets spotted with blood. She breathed quietly, steadily through her nose. _In, and out, and in, and out, and in, and out, and in-_

She heard the door open before she heard the footsteps. She didn't stir for a moment, despite the fact that she _knew_ that confident gait that hid a realm of insecurities, knew the tentative slowing of steps on the threshold, then the minute catch of breath as she opened her eyes again and squinted at him.

He didn't seem likely to kick start the conversation, so Clary took it upon herself to croak, "Hello Jace."

The blond boy looked positively terrified. She knew only a few people would notice it, his features being expertly schooled into an almost intimidating blank indifference, but she spotted it in the way he had his hands folded firmly behind his back, as though to stop them from shaking, and the way his jaw periodically clenched and unclenched in his struggle to bite back the scathing words he was afraid to voice.

Such obvious signs she'd failed to discern before. Perhaps she had picked up on them, subconsciously, and that was how she'd known exactly which words to wield to shatter him completely.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. If she said it any louder, her voice would break. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes shuttered. "About what?"

She swallowed, and before she felt her face contort in useless, desperate anger, she rushed on. "About what I said to you. . . that day. I'm sorry if it hurt you. I didn't mean it."

Perhaps if she said it now, she wouldn't mean it, but she had then. That was the problem.

And Jace knew she had meant it, too.

Nevertheless, he kept his cool, controlled expression, even going so far as to smirk and say, "It's fine. You didn't hurt me."

It was a big fat lie, and they both knew it.

"Even so," she said, accepting his clear aversion to admitting to it. "I'm sorry." She shifted positions as the constant itch on her arm intensified. "Could we just go back in time? Stay friends?"

"Friends?" He repeated quietly, but she didn't think she was imagining the horror that went with it.

"Yes," she breathed, and he opened his mouth to speak - object, she really didn't know - but she rushed on, even as her words tripped over themselves and came rolling off her tongue in an undignified jumble. "I do love you, Jace. Never doubt that." Her heart rate was increasing - she'd just come out of a coma. This could not be good for her recovery. _Calm down_. "But I don't know how - whether it's as a friend, or. . . something else. So just, give me time."

His eyes had widened to the size of golden dinner plates. "Give me time," she repeated steadily. "I think I need to focus on _living_ and _being happy_ before I jump into anything. And when I do - _if_ I do - I'd rather it be feet first."

He nodded curtly, but the set of his mouth was soft as he said, "And. . . Sebastian?"

"We're over." She stated, then rubbing her arm, she added quietly, "We've been over for a while, I think."

Jace swallowed, and nodded. "Time." He clarified. "You need time." She nodded again, and gave a small smile. That seemed to mollify him the rest of the way, as he said, "I'll give you time, then. You deserve it." He tilted his head towards the door. "I'll send the others in."

"Thank you, Jace."

And though the exchange had left something oddly hollow in her chest, as she met with Maia and Simon and Isabelle and Jon and Magnus and even Alec, looking a little less sullen than usual, she slowly remembered how to smile.

* * *

Jon slowly hung up the phone, his heart racing and breathing uneven.

She'd called him. Jocelyn had actually called him.

Not to ask after Clary, like he'd expected - though she had offered a tentative inquest into how he felt about her coming to visit her. How she'd known about his sister's miraculous awakening, he didn't know.

But she hadn't called to ask about her.

But to ask after him.

And so, because he was feeling charitable after her conversation will Clary, he spoke to her. They exchanged stories of the time since he'd last seen her, they exchanged opinions on Valentine's abandonment.

And slowly, Jon felt himself start to warm up to her.

Not forgive her, no; he didn't think he could ever forgive her. Nor forget.

But he began to hope that perhaps their relationship wasn't doomed. That perhaps it was salvageable, and there was still hope there.

She'd hung up what felt like too soon, and much too late, claiming that though she was disappointed to stop talking to him, she really did have an appointment she had to be getting to. Jon didn't inquire what. They weren't at that stage yet.

But when she phoned him again the next day, and the next, and the next, he felt them get closer and closer, until there wasn't much distance between them, at all.


	24. Exuberant

**Thanks to the Guest who reviewed!**

 **The next chapter will be the last.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, and my own imagination. The characters and everything directly taken or influenced by The Mortal Instruments is property of Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

 **Exuberant**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE FOREVE_

"Jon, I'm _fine_ ," Clary dragged out the last word until it was a screeching whine. "The hospital let me out two weeks ago. I don't need any more time off school."

Her brother pouted at her, but there was an undeniable sparkle to his eye that called his bluff. Since she'd been formally released from bedrest, she and Jon had lived alone in their large house, her father still off goodness-knows-where. Thankfully, Jon was eighteen and could legally look after her, though Clary chafed a bit at the utter lack of concern Valentine seemed to have for his .only daughter. Did he even know she was awake?

She already knew the answer to that, she chided herself. No point asking questions she already knew the answer to.

Jon just kissed the top of her head and exited the room, leaving her to finish getting changed into her pyjamas. She glanced once in the mirror over her dressing table as she did so, and suppressed a flinch. She knew she wasn't expected to look good after spending so long unconscious, but that didn't mean it hadn't shocked her when she'd first come into this room, and felt the overwhelming urge to see herself.

Despite the thick sheen of dust the mirror had been covered with - her room, the whole house had been covered with, really; Jon had never been one for housework, and that was apparent in his treatment of the place whilst he was the only one living here - she had been abhorred by what she saw. Cheeks sucked as hollow as a bird's bones in a positively skeletal face, as white as dead hair leeched of colour. Her freckles were violent splashes of blood on snow in contrast. Thick purple gaping abyss's yawned beneath her eyes, and she pressed a palm to her collar bone, and felt her clavicle jut out against her life and love lines with edges like knives.

The ghost of that dead girl still haunted her features in the freshly polished mirror, but she was almost overpowered by the living girl she'd become in the recent days.

The girl who, despite being banned from strenuous activity for a while, had taken it upon herself to get the house spick and span, back to the hive of liveliness it had been before her mother left. Clary had spoken to Jocelyn on the phone when she'd gotten home, her mother refusing to come in person on the grounds that she knew where she wasn't wanted, and whilst there was still that swallowing, fathomless distance between them, they'd come to mutual acceptance during their conversation. Clary had offered the phone to Jon, but he'd refused to talk to her. Clary couldn't help but wonder what had happened.

The moment she was done, she'd locked herself in her room for a day, until the eerie silence of the house when he returned home from school brought Jon pounding up the stairs, panicking, shouting her name-

Only to find his little sister vacuuming the carpet of her bedroom with an almost aggressive fervour, nodding her head in time to the music blaring through her headphones. He'd smiled, and shut the door, and had made no comment even as the dead, dusty corridors grew lighter and airier day by day, and the windows opened, and the dirty dishes were washed, and the clothes cleaned, until Clary had established a happy, productive daily routine.

Actually _doing_ something helped, sometimes. When her hands were rubbed red and raw, when her clothes were flaked with dried paint after hours spent at her old easel, when she went to bed with a tiredness creeping over her with nothing to do with the weariness of one's old and exhausted soul, she felt better.

Talking helped, too. And she talked a lot. The other all had school during the day, obviously, but in the afternoons, when the sun was just beginning to dip below the chimneys, and half the kitchen was bathed in honey light, and the other half shrouded in a neat square of darkness, they would take it in turns to come and sit with her, talk with her, or just listen, or just talk, and just _be there_ as she cleaned and drew and polished and created works of art.

And bit by bit, over the days where she watched the sun track it's path over the sky, or she went for a walk in the woods on her own and let herself revel in the silence that didn't follow angry words or tears, she felt her tired, tired heart begin to piece itself back together, until it beat a steady, dependable rhythm again.

Until she could smile at her friends with a genuine joy, without it falling short of her eyes,

Until she could answer concerned questions with, "I'm fine", and mean it.

Until she could start to feel that same fluttering joy she felt whenever Jace said something kind to her.

But she wasn't afraid.

Well, actually, she was afraid. Of course she was.

She was absolutely terrified.

It hadn't been easy. At first the conversations had been stilted and awkward. At first she'd seen the paintings she created and been consumed by thoughts of how terrible it was. At first she'd looked at what she'd assigned herself to do, and wondered if it was really worth doing. If she should just curl up in the corner of the pit she'd fallen into, and let the world roll by without her. Because it always would. One girl in the grand scheme of things was nothing.

But she wasn't in that pit alone.

So when Clary stepped into school the next day, and felt the eyes of so many people on her - people she'd loved, people she'd hated, people she'd never spoken to, people she'd seen everyday - she didn't shy away, but let herself smile, and just kept walking onwards.


	25. Rewarded

**Last chapter!**

 **I'd just like to take this chance to thank each and every person who's reviewed on this story so far; without your support, I'd probably have given up months ago.**

 **Anyway, I give, the final conclusion to The Story Of Our Scars.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

* * *

 **Rewarded**

 _SADNESS WILL NEVER BE FOREVER_

Things eventually got better. The storms passed.

As all storms are generally wont to do.

They all came out weather beaten and soaked to the skin and freezing, but they came out nonetheless.

Clary finally threw out all the brown hair dye she had. "Good riddance," she said. "I can't remember why I wanted to dye my hair. I can't remember when I stopped, nor why, but I'm glad I did. I don't have anything against the colour brown, but it's just not _me_."

She'd noticed that those odd, weekly phone calls from Jocelyn to both her and Jon turned to daily calls, then weekly visits, then daily visits too, until there wasn't a day that went by they didn't hear from her.

Valentine came back one morning about a month later. He was gruff and curt when Jon explained everything that had happened, and his demeanour turned cold when he saw Jocelyn in the kitchen, on one of her visits. Three hours, several broken chairs, and a few voices blown out from screaming later, they'd come to an agreement: Jon and Clary could live alone in the house (they were doing perfectly fine on their own anyway, thank you very much) and Valentine and Jocelyn could drop by to check on them as they willed. Jocelyn did regularly. Valentine, funnily enough, did not.

But that didn't matter.

She'd gotten through it, and survived. They all had.

And she was eternally grateful for that.

Jon finally reconciled with Isabelle, and Maia, and everyone else he'd managed to piss off severely. He still pissed them off, because he was Jon, and pissing people off was practically his art form, but now there were no hard feelings behind it. Not many, at least.

Clary and Sebastian had become almost as close as Clary and Simon, though there was still that hint of awkwardness when he introduced his new girlfriend to the rest of them. But they laughed it off, and if the new girl noticed, she was wise and shrewd enough not to comment.

And as for Clary and Jace, well, they got there in the end.

Because the road didn't end just because the bumps did.

It was still long and winding, through painful territory, through unfamiliar territory, through tentative and shy territory. They stumbled along it like two new born foals, uncertain and scared yet simultaneously awed by the forest around them. Occasionally they would stumble, and they would shout, and one would walk out and slam the door, leaving the other behind wringing their thumbs in distress, but. . . They got there.

Other relationships took longer to repair. It was years before Clary spoke amiably and calmly with her father of her own free will, and it was years before Jon began to forgive Jocelyn for leaving them. Loose ends for problems never quite solved trailed in their wake as they plodded on.

And again, some things would forever haunt them.

Jon would never be entirely comfortable with letting Clary drive.

Clary never wore clothes coloured grey or brown or black ever again, if she could help it.

And Jace and Clary never spoke of the argument that had raged so fiercely, and done so much damage. They never brought up, or let themselves return to that event that had punched through both their souls like paper, and left a gaping hole in its wake, one they still hadn't quite fixed. Jon and the others never found out what exactly had been said, though they had their suspicions whenever they deigned to think of it.

But that was alright.

That was life.

You gained scars, and you healed them.

And so Clary focused on the healing, on the light glinting off of Jace's god hair at sunset, of the steady reassurance of a hand in hers, whether friendly or romantic, of the comforting _swish_ of a paintbrush as it sawed across the canvas.

And so she didn't live happily ever after. She'd always known that that particular fairy tale ending was barred from her. Was barred from everyone.

She didn't live happily ever after.

She lived.

 _ **The End**_


End file.
